SILENT  HOUSE 


FERGUS  HUME 


UCSB    LIBRARY 


THE 

SILENT  HOUSE 


BY 

FERGUS    HUME 


NEW  YORK 
C.    H.    DOSCHER 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
C.  H.  DOSCHER 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I — THE  TENANT  OF  THE  SILENT  HOUSE i 

II — SHADOWS  ON  THE  BLIND 10 

III — AN  UNSATISFACTORY  EXPLANATION 20 

IV — MRS.  KEBBY'S  DISCOVERY 29 

V — THE  TALK  OF  THE  TOWN 38 

VI — MRS.  VRAIN'S  STORY 47 

VII — THE  ASSURANCE  MONEY 56 

VIII— DIANA  VRAIN 65 

*  IX— A  MARRIAGE  THAT  WAS  A  FAILURE 74 

X — THE  PARTI- COLOURED  RIBBON 83 

XI — FURTHER  DISCOVERIES 93 

XII — THE  VEIL  AND  ITS  OWNER 101 

XIII — GOSSIP m 

XIV — THE  HOUSE  IN  JERSEY  STREET 121 

XV — RHODA  AND  THE  CLOAK 131 

XVI — MRS.  VRAIN  AT  BAY 141 

XVII — A  DENIAL 151 

XVIII — WHO  BOUGHT  THE  CLOAK  ? 160 

XIX — THE  DEFENCE  OF  COUNT  FERRUCT 169 

iii 


iv  CONTENTS 


CHAP. 


PAGE 


XX— A  NEW  DEVELOPMENT 179 

XXI— Two  MONTHS  PASS 187 

XXII— AT  BERWIN  MANOR 196 

XXIII— A  STARTLING  THEORY 206 

XXIV— LUCIAN  Is  SURPRISED 215 

XXV— A  DARK  PLOT 224 

XXVI— THE  OTHER  MAN'S  WIFE 233 

XXVII — A  CONFESSION 241 

XXVIII — THE  NAME  OF  THE  ASSASSIN 252 

XXIX— LINK  SETS  A  TRAP 262 

XXX — WHO  FELL  INTO  THE  TRAP : 272 

XXXI — A  STRANGE  CONFESSION 282 

XXXII — THE  CONFESSION   (continued) 291 

XXXIII— WHAT  RHODA  HAD  TO  SAY 301 

XXXIV — THE  END  OF  IT  ALL 310 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  TENANT  OF  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

LUCIAN  DENZIL  was  a  briefless  barrister,  who 
so  far  departed  from  the  traditions  of  his  brethren 
of  the  long  robe  as  not  to  dwell  within  the  purlieus 
of  the  Temple.  For  certain  private  reasons,  not  un- 
connected with  economy,  he  occupied  rooms  in  Gen- 
eva Square,  Pimlico;  and,  for  the  purposes  of  his 
profession,  repaired  daily,  from  ten  to  four,  to  Ser- 
jeant's Inn,  where  he  shared  an  office  with  a  friend 
equally  briefless  and  poor. 

This  state  of  things  sounds  hardly  enviable,  but 
Lucian,  being  young  and  independent  to  the  extent 
of  £300  a  year,  was  not  dissatisfied  with  his  posi- 
tion. As  his  age  was  only  twenty-five,  there  was 
ample  time,  he  thought,  to  succeed  in  his  profes- 
sion ;  and,  pending  that  desirable  consummation,  he 
cultivated  the  muses  on  a  little  oatmeal,  after  the 
fashion  of  his  kind.  There  have  been  lives  less 
happily  circumstanced. 

Geneva  Square  was  a  kind  of  backwater  of  the 


2  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

great  river  of  town  life  which  swept  past  its  en- 
trance with  speed  and  clamour  without  disturbing 
the  peace  within.  One  long,  narrow  street  led  from 
a  roaring  thoroughfare  into  a  silent  quadrangle  of 
tall  grey  houses,  occupied  by  lodging-house  keep- 
ers, city  clerks  and  two  or  three  artists,  who  repre- 
sented the  Bohemian  element  of  the  place.  In  the 
centre  there  was  an  oasis  of  green  lawn,  surrounded 
by  rusty  iron  railings  the  height  of  a  man,  dotted 
with  elms  of  considerable  age,  and  streaked  with 
narrow  paths  of  yellow  gravel. 

The  surrounding  houses  represented  an  eminently 
respectable  appearance,  with  their  immaculately 
clean  steps,  white-curtained  windows,  and  neat 
boxes  of  flowers.  The  windows  glittered  like  dia- 
monds, the  door-knobs  and  plates  shone  with  a  yel- 
low lustre,  and  there  were  no  sticks,  or  straws,  or 
waste  paper  lying  about  to  mar  the  tidy  look  of  the 
square. 

With  one  exception,  Geneva  Square  was  a  pat- 
tern of  all  that  was  desirable  in  the  way  of  cleanli- 
ness and  order.  One  might  hope  to  find  such  a 
haven  in  some  somnolent  cathedral  town,  but  scarce- 
ly in  the  grimy,  smoky,  restless  metropolis  of 
London. 

The  exception  to  the  notable  spotlessness  of  the 
neighborhood  was  No.  13,  a  house  in  the  centre  of 
the  side  opposite  to  the  entrance.  Its  windows  were 
dusty,  and  without  blinds  or  curtains,  there  were 
no  flower-boxes  on  the  ledges,  the  steps  lacked 
whitewash,  and  the  iron  railings  looked  rusty  for 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  3 

^ 

want  of  paint.  Stray  straws  and  scraps  of  paper 
found  their  way  down  the  area,  where  the  cracked 
pavement  was  damp  with  green  slime.  Such  beg- 
gars as  occasionally  wandered  into  the  square,  to 
the  scandal  of  its  inhabitants,  camped  on  the  door- 
step ;  and  the  very  door  itself  presented  a  battered, 
dissolute  appearance. 

Yet,  for  all  its  ill  looks  and  disreputable  sugges- 
tions, those  who  dwelt  in  Geneva  Square  would  not 
have  seen  it  furbished  up  and  occupied  for  any 
money.  They  spoke  about  it  in  whispers,  with 
ostentatious  tremblings,  and  daunted  looks,  for  No. 
13  was  supposed  to  be  haunted,  and  had  been  empty 
for  over  twenty  years.  By  reason  of  its  legend,  its 
loneliness  and  grim  appearance,  it  was  known  as 
the  Silent  House,  and  formed  quite  a  feature  of 
the  place.  Murder  had  been  done  long  ago  in  one 
of  its  empty,  dusty  rooms,  and  it  was  since  then 
that  the  victim  walked.  Lights,  said  the  ghost-seers, 
had  been  seen  flitting  from  window  to  window, 
groans  were  sometimes  heard,  and  the  apparition 
of  a  little  old  woman  in  brocaded  silk  and  high- 
heeled  shoes  appeared  on  occasions.  Hence  the  Si- 
lent House  bore  an  uncanny  reputation. 

How  much  truth  there  was  in  these  stories  it  is 
impossible  to  say;  but  sure  enough,  in  spite  of  a  low 
rental,  no  tenant  would  take  No.  13  and  face  its 
ghostly  terrors.  House  and  apparition  and  legend 
had  become  quite  a  tradition,  when  the  whole  fan- 
tasy was  ended  in  the  summer  of  '95  by  the  unex- 
pected occupation  of  the  mansion.  Mr.  Mark  Ber- 


4  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

win,  a  gentleman  of  mature  age,  who  came  from 
nobody  knew  where,  rented  No.  13,  and  established 
himself  therein  to  lead  a  strange  and  lonely  life. 

At  first,  the  gossips,  strong  in  ghostly  tradition, 
declared  that  the  new  tenant  would  not  remain  a 
week  in  the  house;  but  as  the  week  extended  into 
six  months,  and  Mr.  Berwin  showed  no  signs  of 
leaving,  they  left  off  speaking  of  the  ghost  and  took 
to  discussing  the  man  himself.  In  a  short  space  of 
time  quite  a  collection  of  stories  were  told  about  the 
newcomer  and  his  strange  ways. 

Lucian  heard  many  of  these  tales  from  his  land- 
lady. How  Mr.  Berwin  lived  all  alone  in  the  Silent 
House  without  servant  or  companion ;  how  he  spoke 
to  none,  and  admitted  no  one  into  the  mansion ;  how 
he  appeared  to  have  plenty  of  money,  and  was  fre- 
quently seen  coming  home  more  or  less  intoxicated ; 
and  how  Mrs.  Kebby,  the  deaf  charwoman  who 
cleaned  out  Mr.  Berwin's  rooms,  declined  to  sleep 
in  the  house  because  she  considered  that  there  was 
something  wrong  about  her  employer. 

To  such  gossip  Denzil  paid  little  attention,  until 
his  skein  of  life  became  unexpectedly  entangled  with 
that  of  the  strange  gentleman.  The  manner  of  their 
meeting  was  unforeseen  and  peculiar. 

One  foggy  November  night,  Lucian,  returning 
from  the  theatre,  shortly  after  eleven  o'clock,  dis- 
missed his  hansom  at  the  entrance  to  the  square  and 
walked  thereinto  through  the  thick  mist,  trusting  to 
find  his  way  home  by^reason  of  two  years'  familiar- 
ity with  the  precincts.  As  it  was  impossible  to  see 


SILENT  HOUSE  5 

even  the  glare  of  the  near  gas  lamp  in  the  murky 
air,  Lucian  felt  his  way  cautiously  along  the  rail- 
ings. The  square  was  filled  with  fog,  dense  to 
the  eye  and  cold  to  the  feel,  so  that  Lucian  shivered 
with  the  chill,  in  spite  of  the  fur  coat  over  his  even- 
ing clothes. 

As  he  edged  gingerly  along,  and  thought  long- 
ingly of  the  fire  and  supper  awaiting  him  in  his 
comfortable  rooms,  he  was  startled  by  hearing  a 
deep,  rich  voice  boom  out  almost  at  his  feet.  To 
make  the  phenomenon  still  more  remarkable,  the 
voice  shaped  itself  into  certain  well-known  words 
of  Shakespeare: 

"Oh !"  boomed  this  vox  et  prater ea  nihil  in  rath- 
er husky  tones,  "Oh!  that  a  man  should  put  an 
enemy  in  his  mouth  to  steal  away  his  brains  I"  And 
then  through  the  mist  and  darkness  came  the  un- 
mistakable sound  of  sobs. 

"God  bless  me !"  cried  Lucian,  leaping  back,  with 
shaken  nerves.  "Who  is  this?  Who  are  you?" 

"A  lost  soul!"  wailed  the  deep  voice,  "which 
God  will  not  bless!"  And  then  came  the  sobbing 
again. 

It  made  Denzil's  blood  run  cold  to  hear  this 
unseen  creature  weeping  in  the  gloom.  Moving 
cautiously  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  he  stumbled 
against  a  man  with  his  folded  arms  resting  on  the 
railings,  and  his  face  bent  down  on  his  arms.  He 
made  no  attempt  to  turn  when  Lucian  touched  him, 
but  with  downcast  head  continued  to  weep  and 
moan  in  a  very  frenzy  of  self-pity. 


6  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Here!"  said  the  young  barrister,  shaking  the 
stranger  by  the  shoulder,  "what  is  the  matter  with 
you?" 

"Drink!"  stuttered  the  man,  suddenly  turning 
with  a  dramatic  gesture.  "I  am  an  object  lesson  to 
teetotalers;  a  warning  to  topers;  a  modern  helot 
made  shameful  to  disgust  youth  with  vice." 

"You  had  better  go  home,  sir,"  said  Lucian 
sharply. 

"I  can't  find  home.  It  is  somewhere  hereabout, 
but  where,  I  don't  know." 

"You  are  in  Geneva  Square,"  said  Denzil,  try- 
ing to  sharpen  the  dulled  wits  of  the  man. 

"I  wish  I  was  in  No.  13  of  it,"  sighed  the  stran- 
ger. "Where  the  deuce  is  No.  13?  Not  in  this 
Clondcuckooland,  anyhow." 

"Oh!"  cried  Lucian,  taking  the  man's  arm. 
"Come  with  me.  I'll  lead  you  home,  Mr.  Berwin." 

Scarcely  had  the  name  passed  his  lips  than  the 
stranger  drew  back  suddenly,  with  a  hasty  exclama- 
tion. Some  suspicion  seemed  to  engender  a  mixture 
of  terror  and  defiance  which  placed  him  on  his 
guard  against  undue  intimacy,  even  when  some  un- 
defined fear  was  knocking  at  his  heart.  "Who  are 
you?"  he  demanded  in  a  steadier  tone.  "How  do 
you  know  my  name?" 

"My  name  is  Denzil,  Mr.  Berwin,  and  I  live 
in  one  of  the  houses  of  this  square.    As  you  men- 
tion No.  13,  I  know  you  can  be  none  other  than 
Mr.  Mark  Berwin,  the  tenant  of  the  Silent  House." 
"The  dweller  in    the  haunted    house,"  sneered 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  7 

Berwin,  evidently  relieved,  "who  stays  there  with 
ghosts,  and  worse  than  ghosts." 

"Worse  than  ghosts?" 

"The  phantoms  of  my  own  sins,  young  man.  I 
have  sowed  folly,  and  now  I  am  reaping  the  crop. 
I  am "  Here  his  further  speech  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  fit  of  coughing,  which  shook  his  lean 
figure  severely.  At  its  conclusion  he  was  so  exhaust- 
ed that  he  was  forced  to  support  himself  against 
the  railings.  "A  portion  of  the  crop,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

Lucian  was  sorry  for  the  man,  who  seemed 
scarcely  capable  of  looking  after  himself,  and  he 
thought  it  unwise  to  leave  him  in  such  a  plight. 
At  the  same  time,  he  was  impatient  of  lingering 
in  the  heart  of  the  clammy  fog  at  such  a  late  hour; 
so,  as  his  companion  seemed  indisposed  to  move,  he 
caught  him  again  by  the  arm  without  ceremony. 
The  abrupt  action  seemed  to  waken  again  the  fears 
of  Berwin. 

"Where  would  you  take  me?"  he  asked,  resist- 
ing the  gentle  force  used  by  Lucian. 

"To  your  own  house.  You  will  be  ill  if  you  stay 
here." 

"You  are  not  one  of  them?"  asked  the  man  sud- 
denly. 

"One  of  whom?" 

"One  of  those  who  wish  to  harm  me?" 

Denzil  began  to  think  he  had  to  do  with  a  mad- 
man, and  to  gain  his  ends  he  spoke  to  him  in  a  sooth- 
ing manner,  as  he  would  to  a  child:  "I  wish  to 


8  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

do  you  good,  Mr.  Berwin,"  said  he  gently.    "Come 
to  your  home." 

"Home !  home !    Ah,  God,  I  have  no  home  I" 

Nevertheless,  he  gathered  himself  together,  and 
with  his  arm  in  that  of  his  guide,  stumbled  along 
in  the  thick,  chill  mist.  Lucian  knew  the  position 
of  No.  13  well,  as  it  almost  faced  the  lodgings 
occupied  by  himself,  and  by  skirting  the  railings 
with  due  caution,  he  managed  to  half  lead,  half  drag 
his  companion  to  the  house.  When  they  stood  be- 
fore the  door,  and  Berwin  had  assured  himself  that 
he  was  actually  home  by  the  use  of  his  latch-key, 
Denzil  wished  him  a  curt  good-night.  "And  I 
should  advise  you  to  go  to  bed  at  once,"  he  con- 
cluded, turning  to  descend  the  steps. 

"Don't  go!  Don't  go!"  cried  Berwin,  seizing 
the  young  man  by  the  arm.  "I  am  afraid  to  go 
in  by  myself — all  is  so  dark  and  cold !  Wait  until 
I  get  a  light!" 

As  the  creature's  nerves  seemed  to  be  unhinged 
by  over-indulgence  in  alcohol,  and  he  stood  gasp- 
ing and  shivering  on  the  threshold  like  some  beaten 
animal,  Lucian  took  compassion  on  him. 

"I'll  see  you  indoors,"  said  he,  and  striking  a 
match,  stepped  into  the  darkness  after  the  man.  The 
hall  of  No.  13  seemed  to  be  almost  as  cold  as  the 
world  without,  and  the  trifling  glimmer  of  the  luci- 
fer  served  rather  to  reveal  than  dispel  the  surround- 
ing darkness.  The  light,  as  it  were,  hollowed  a 
gulf  out  of  the  tremendous  gloom  and  made  the 
house  tenfold  more  ghostly  than  before.  The  foot- 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  9 

s. 

steps  of  Denzil  and  Berwin  sounding  on  the  bare 
boards — for  the  hall  was  uncarpeted — waked  hol- 
low echoes,  and  when  they  paused  the  silence  which 
ensued  seemed  almost  menacing.  The  grim  repu- 
tation of  the  mansion,  its  gloom  and  silence,  ap- 
pealed powerfully  to  the  latent  superstition  of  Lu- 
cian.  How  much  more  nearly,  then,  would  it  touch 
the  shaken  and  excited  nerves  of  the  tragic  drunkard 
who  dwelt  continually  amid  its  terrors ! 

Berwin  opened  a  door  on  the  right-hand  side  of 
the  hall  and  turned  up  the  light  of  a  handsome  oil- 
lamp  which  had  been  screwed  down  pending  his 
arrival.  This  lamp  was  placed  on  a  small  square 
table  covered  with  a  white  cloth  and  a  dainty  cold 
supper.  The  young  barrister  noted  that  the  napery, 
cutlery,  and  crystal  were  all  of  the  finest;  that  the 
viands  were  choice ;  that  champagne  and  claret  were 
the  beverages.  Evidently  Berwin  was  a  luxurious 
gentleman  and  indulgent  to  his  appetites. 

Lucian  tried  to  gain  a  long  look  at  him  in  the 
mellow  light,  but  Berwin  kept  his  face  turned  away, 
and  seemed  as  anxious  now  for  his  visitor  to  go 
as  he  had  been  for  him  to  enter.  Denzil,  quick  in 
comprehension,  took  the  hint  at  once. 

"I'll  go  now,  as  you  have  the  light  burning," 
said  he.  "Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  replied  Berwin  shortly,  and  add- 
ed to  his  discourtesy  by  letting  Lucian  find  his  way 
out  alone. 

And  so  ended  the  barrister's  first  meeting  with 
the  strange  tenant  of  the  Silent  House. 


CHAPTER  II 

SHADOWS  ON  THE  BLIND 

THE  landlady  of  Denzil  was  a  rather  uncom- 
mon specimen  of  the  class.  She  inclined  to  plump- 
ness, was  lively  in  the  extreme,  wore  very  fashion- 
able garments  of  the  brightest  colours,  and — al- 
though somewhat  elderly — still  cherished  a  hope 
that  some  young  man  would  elevate  her  to  the  rank 
of  a  matron. 

At  present,  Miss  Julia  Greeb  was  an  unwedded 
damsel  of  forty  summers,  who,  with  the  aid  of  art, 
was  making  desperate  but  ineffectual  efforts  to  de- 
tain the  youth  which  was  slipping  from  her.  She 
pinched  her  waist,  dyed  her  hair,  powdered  her 
face,  and  affected  juvenile  dress  of  the  white  frock 
and  blue  sash  kind.  In  the  distance  she  looked  a 
girlish  twenty;  close  at  hand  various  artifices  aided 
her  to  pass  for  thirty;  and  it  was  only  in  the  soli- 
tude of  her  own  room  that  her  real  age  was  ap- 
parent. Never  did  woman  wage  a  more  resolute 
fight  with  Time  than  did  Miss  Greeb. 

But  this  was  the  worst  and  most  frivolous  side 
of  her  character,  for  she  was  really  a  good-hearted, 
cheery  little  woman,  with  a  brisk  manner,  and  a 

10 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  n 

v 

flow  of  talk  unequalled  in  Geneva  Square.  She  had 
been  born  in  the  house  she  occupied,  after  the  death 
of  her  father,  and  had  grown  up  to  assist  her  moth- 
er in  ministering  to  the  exactions  of  a  continuous 
procession  of  lodgers.  These  came  and  went,  mar- 
ried and  died;  but  not  one  of  the  desirable  young 
men  had  borne  Miss  Greeb  to  the  altar,  so  that 
when  her  mother  died  the  fair  Julia  almost  de- 
spaired of  attaining  to  the  dignity  of  wifehood. 
Nevertheless,  she  continued  to  keep  boarders,  and 
to  make  attempts  to  captivate  the  hearts  of  such 
bachelors  as  she  judged  weak  in  character. 

Hitherto  all  her  efforts  had  been  more  or  less 
of  a  mercantile  character,  with  an  eye  to  money; 
but  when  Lucian  Denzil  appeared  on  the  scene,  the 
poor  little  woman  really  fell  in  love  with  his  hand- 
some face.  But,  in  strange  contrast  to  her  other 
efforts,  Miss  Greeb  never  for  a  moment  deemed 
that  Lucian  would  marry  her.  He  was  her  god, 
her  ideal  of  manhood,  and  to  him  she  offered  wor- 
ship, and  burnt  incense  after  the  manner  of  her 
kind. 

Denzil  occupied  a  bedroom  and  sitting-room, 
both  pleasant,  airy  apartments,  looking  out  on  to 
the  square.  Miss  Greeb  attended  to  his  needs  her- 
self, and  brought  up  his  breakfast  with  her  own 
fair  hands,  happy  for  the  day  if  her  admired  lodger 
conversed  with  her  for  a  few  moments  before  read- 
ing the  morning  paper.  Then  Miss  Greeb  would 
retire  to  her  own  sitting-room  and  indulge  in  day 
dreams  which  she  well  knew  would  never  be  real- 


12  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

ised.  The  romances  she  wove  herself  were  even 
more  marvellous  than  those  she  read  in  her  favour- 
ite penny  novelettes;  but,  unlike  the  printed  tales, 
her  romance  never  culminated  in  marriage.  Poor 
brainless,  silly,  pitiful  Miss  Greeb;  she  would  have 
made  a  good  wife  and  a  fond  mother,  but  by  some 
irony  of  fate  she  was  destined  to  be  neither;  and  the 
comedy  of  her  husband-hunting  youth  was  now 
changing  into  the  lonely  tragedy  of  disappointed 
spinsterhood.  She  was  one  of  the  world's  unknown 
martyrs,  and  her  fate  merits  tears  rather  than  laugh- 
ter. 

On  the  morning  after  his  meeting  with  Berwin, 
the  young  barrister  sat  at  breakfast,  with  Miss 
Greeb  in  anxious  attendance.  Having  poured  out 
his  tea,  and  handed  him  his  paper,  and  ascertained 
that  his  breakfast  was  to  his  liking,  Miss  Greeb 
lingered  about  the  room,  putting  this  straight  and 
that  crooked,  in  the  hope  that  Lucian  would  con- 
verse with  her.  In  this  she  was  gratified,  as  Denzil 
wished  to  learn  details  about  the  strange  man  he 
had  assisted  on  the  previous  night,  and  he  knew 
that  no  one  could  afford  him  more  precise  infor- 
mation than  his  brisk  landlady,  to  whom  was  known 
all  the  gossip  of  the  neighbourhood.  His  first  word 
made  Miss  Greeb  flutter  back  to  the  table  like  a 
dove  to  its  nest. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  No.  13?"  asked 
Lucian,  stirring  his  tea. 

"Do  I  know  anything  about  No.  13?"  repeated 
Miss  Greeb  in  shrill  amazement.  "Of  course  I  do, 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  13 

Mr.  Denzil.  There  ain't  a  thing  I  don't  know 
about  that  house.  Ghosts  and  vampires  and  crawl- 
ing spectres  live  in  it — that  they  do." 

"Do  you  call  Mr.  Berwin  a  ghost?" 

"No;  nor  nothing  half  so  respectable.  He  is 
a  mystery,  sir,  that's  what  Mr.  Berwin  is,  and  I 
don't  care  if  he  hears  me  commit  myself  so  far." 

"In  what  way  is  he  a  mystery?"  demanded  Den- 
zil, approaching  the  matter  with  more  particular- 
ity. 

"Why,"  said  Miss  Greeb,  evidently  puzzled  how 
to  answer  this  leading  question,  "no  one  can  find  out 
anything  about  him.  He's  full  of  secrets  and  un- 
derhand goings  on.  It  ain't  respectable  not  to  be 
fair  and  above  board — that  it  ain't." 

"I  see  no  reason  why  a  quiet-living  old  gentle- 
man should  tell  his  private  affairs  to  the  whole 
square,"  remarked  Lucian  drily. 

"Those  who  have  nothing  bad  to  conceal  needn't 
be  afraid  of  speaking  out,"  retorted  Miss  Greeb 
tartly.  "And  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Berwin  lives 
is  enough  to  make  one  think  him  a  coiner,  or  a 
thief,  or  even  a  murderer — that  it  is!" 

"But  what  grounds  have  you  to  believe  him  any 
one  of  the  three?" 

This  question  also  puzzled  the  landlady,  as  she 
had  no  reasonable  grounds  for  her  wild  statements. 
Nevertheless,  she  made  a  determined  attempt  to 
substantiate  them  by  hearsay  evidence.  "Mr.  Ber- 
win," said  she  in  significant  tones,  "lives  all  alone 
in  that  haunted  house." 


14  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Why  not?     Every  man  has  the  right  to  be  a 
misanthrope  if  he  chooses." 

"He  has  no  right  to  behave  so,  in  a  respectable 
square,"  replied  Miss  Greeb,  shaking  her  head. 
"There's  only  two  rooms  of  that  large  house  fur- 
nished, and  all  the  rest  is  given  up  to  dust  and 
ghosts.  Mr.  Berwin  won't  have  a  servant  to  live 
under  his  roof,  and  Mrs.  Kebby,  who  does  his  char- 
ing, says  he  drinks  awful.  Then  he  has  his  meals 
sent  in  from  the  Nelson  Hotel  round  the  corner, 
and  eats  them  all  alone.  He  don't  receive  no  let- 
ters, he  don't  read  no  newspapers,  and  stays  in  all 
day,  only  coming  out  at  night,  like  an  owl.  If  he 
ain't  a  criminal,  Mr.  Denzil,  why  does  he  carry 
on  so?" 

"He  may  dislike  his  fellow-men,  and  desire  to 
live  a  secluded  life." 

Miss  Greeb  still  shook  her  head.  "He  may 
dislike  his  fellow-men,"  she  said  with  emphasis, 
"but  that  don't  keep  him  from  seeing  them — ah ! 
that  it  don't." 

"Is  there  anything  wrong  in  that?"  said  Lucian, 
contemptuous  of  these  cobweb  objections. 

"Perhaps  not,  Mr.  Denzil;  but  where  do  those 
he  sees  come  from?" 

"How  do  you  mean,  Miss  Greeb?" 
"They  don't  go  in  by  the  front  door,  that's  cer- 
tain," continued  the  little  woman  darkly.  "There's 
only  one  entrance  to  this  square,  sir,  and  Blinders, 
the  policeman,  is  frequently  on  duty  there.  Two 
or  three  nights  he's  met  Mr.  Berwin  coming  in 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  15 

after  dark  ancTexchanged  friendly  greetings  with 
him,  and  each  time  Mr.  Berwin  has  been  alone !" 

"Well!  well!  What  of  that?"  said  Denzil  im- 
patiently. 

"This  much,  Mr.  Denzil,  that  Blinders  has  gone 
round  the  square,  after  seeing  Mr.  Berwin,  and  has 
seen  shadows — two  or  three  of  them — on  the  sit- 
ting-room blind.  Now,  sir,"  cried  Miss  Greeb, 
clinching  her  argument,  "if  Mr.  Berwin  came  into 
the  square  alone,  how  did  his  visitors  get  in?" 

"Perhaps  by  the  back,"  conjectured  Lucian. 

Again  Miss  Greeb  shook  her  head.  "I  know 
the  back  of  No.  13  as  well  as  I  know  my  own 
face,"  she  declared.  "There's  a  yard  and  a  fence, 
but  no  entrance.  To  get  in  there  you  have  to  go 
in  by  the  front  door  or  down  the  aiery  steps;  and 
you  can't  do  neither  without  coming  past  Blinders 
at  the  square's  entrance,  and  that,"  finished  Miss 
Greeb  triumphantly,  "these  visitors  don't  do." 

"They  may  have  come  into  the  square  during  the 
day,  when  Blinders  was  not  on  duty." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Miss  Greeb,  ready  for  this  ob- 
jection. "I  thought  of  that  myself,  and  as  my  duty 
to  the  square  I  have  inquired — that  I  have.  On 
two  occasions  I've  asked  the  day  policeman,  and  he 
says  no  one  passed." 

"Then,"  said  Lucian,  rather  puzzled,  "Mr.  Ber- 
win cannot  live  alone  in  the  house." 

"Begging  your  pardon,  I'm  sure,"  cried  the  per- 
tinacious woman,  "but  he  does.  Mrs.  Kebby  has 
been  all  over  the  house,  and  there  isn't  another  soul 


16  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

in  it.  No,  Mr.  Denzil,  take  it  what  way  you  will, 
there's  something  that  ain't  right  about  Mr.  Ber- 
wjn — if  that's  his  real  name,  which  I  don't  believe 
it  is." 

"Why,  Miss  Greeb?" 

"Just  because  I  don't,"  replied  the  landlady,  with 
feminine  logic.  "And  if  you  think  of  having  any- 
thing to  do  with  this  mystery,  Mr.  Denzil,  I  beg 
of  you  not  to,  else  you  may  come  to  something  as 
is  too  terrible  to  consider — that  you  may." 

"Such  as " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  cried  Miss  Greeb,  tossing 
her  head  and  gliding  towards  the  door.  "It  ain't 
for  me  to  say  what  I  think.  I  am  the  last  person 
in  the  world  to  meddle  with  what  don't  concern 
me — that  I  am."  And  thus  ending  the  conversa- 
tion, Miss  Greeb  vanished,  with  significant  look  and 
pursed-up  lips. 

The  reason  of  this  last  speech  and  rapid  retreat 
lay  in  the  fact  that  Miss  Greeb  could  bring  no  tan- 
gible charge  against  her  opposite  neighbour;  and 
therefore  hinted  at  his  complicity  in  all  kinds  ' 
horrors,  which  she  was  quite  unable  to  define  sa 
in  terms  more  or  less  vague. 

Lucian  dismissed  such  hints  of  criminality  from 
his  mind  as  the  outcome  of  Miss  Greeb's  very  lively 
imagination ;  yet,  even  though  he  reduced  her  com- 
munications to  bare  facts,  he  could  not  but  acknowl- 
edge that  there  was  something  queer  about  Mr.  Ber- 
win  and  his  mode  of  life.  The  man's  self-pity  and 
self-condemnation;  his  hints  that  certain  peor1" 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  17 

V 

wished  to  do  him  harm ;  the  curious  episode  of  the 
shadows  on  the  blind — these  things  engaged  the 
curiosity  of  Denzil  in  no  ordinary  degree;  and  he 
could  not  but  admit  to  himself  that  it  would  great- 
ly ease  his  mind  to  arrive  at  some  reasonable  ex- 
planation of  Berwin's  eccentricities. 

Nevertheless,  he  held  that  he  had  no  right  to 
pry  into  the  secrets  of  the  stranger,  and  honour- 
ably strove  to  dismiss  the  tenant  of  No.  13  and 
his  tantalising  environments  from  his  mind.  But 
such  dismissal  of  unworthy  curiosity  was  more  diffi- 
cult to  effect  than  he  expected. 

For  the  next  week  Lucian  resolutely  banished 
the  subject  from  his  thoughts,  and  declined  to  dis- 
cuss the  matter  further  with  Miss  Greeb.  That 
little  woman,  all  on  fire  with  curiosity,  made  vari- 
ous inquiries  of  her  gossips  regarding  the  doings 
of  Mr.  Berwin,  and  in  default  of  reporting  the 
same  to  her  lodger,  occupied  herself  in  discussing 
them  with  her  neighbours.  The  consequence  of 
this  incessant  gossip  was  that  the  eyes  of  the  whole 
quare  fixed  themselves  on  No.  13  in  expectation 
jf  some  catastrophe,  although  no  one  knew  exactly 
what  was  going  to  happen. 

This  undefinable  feeling  of  impending  disaster 
communicating  itself  to  Lucian,  stimulated  his  cu- 
riosity to  such  a  pitch  that,  with  some  feeling  of 
shame  for  his  weakness,  he  walked  round  the  square 
on  two  several  evenings  in  the  hope  of  meeting 
Berwin.  But  on  both  occasions  he  was  unsuccess- 


1 8  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

On  the  third  evening  he  was  more  fortunate,  for 
having  worked  at  his  law  books  until  late  at  night, 
he  went  out  for  a  brisk  walk  before  retiring  to 
rest.  The  night  was  cold,  and  there  had  been  a 
slight  fall  of  snow,  so  Lucian  wrapped  himself  up 
well,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  proceeded  to  take  the 
air  by  tramping  twice  or  thrice  round  the  square. 
Overhead  the  sky  was  clear  and  frosty,  with  chill 
glittering  stars  and  a  wintry  moon.  A  thin  cov- 
ering of  snow  lay  on  the  pavement,  and  there  was 
a  white  rime  on  the  bare  branches  of  the  central 
trees. 

On  coming  to  the  house  of  Berwin,  the  barrister 
saw  that  the  sitting-room  was  lighted  up  and  the 
curtains  undrawn,  so  that  the  window  presented  a 
square  of  illuminated  blind.  Even  as  he  looked, 
two  shadows  darkened  the  white  surface — the  shad- 
ows of  a  man  and  a  woman.  Evidently  they  had 
come  between  the  lamp  and  the  window,  and  so, 
quite  unknowingly,  revealed  their  actions  to  the 
watcher.  Curious  to  see  the  end  of  this  shadow 
pantomime,  Lucian  stood  still  and  looked  intently 
at  the  window. 

The  two  figures  seemed  to  be  arguing,  for  their 
heads  nodded  violently  and  their  arms  waved  con- 
stantly. They  retreated  out  of  the  sphere  of  light, 
and  again  came  into  it,  still  continuing  their  furi- 
ous gestures.  Unexpectedly  the  male  shadow  seized 
the  female  by  the  throat  and  swung  her  like  a  feath- 
er to  and  fro.  The  struggling  figures  reeled  out  of 
the  radiance  and  Lucian  heard  a  faint  cry. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  19 

V 

Thinking  that  something  was  wrong,  he  rushed 
up  the  steps  and  rang  the  bell  violently.  Almost 
before  the  sound  died  away  the  light  in  the  room 
was  extinguished,  and  he  could  see  nothing  more. 
Again  and  again  he  rang,  but  without  attracting 
attention ;  so  Lucian  finally  left  the  house  and  went 
in  search  of  Blinders,  the  policeman,  to  narrate  his 
experience.  At  the  entrance  of  Geneva  Square  he 
ran  against  a  man  whom  he  recognised  in  the  clear 
moonlight. 

To  his  surprise  he  beheld  Mark  Berwin. 


CHAPTER  III 

AN  UNSATISFACTORY  EXPLANATION 

"MR.  BERWIN!"  cried  Lucian,  recognising  the 
man.  "Is  it  you?" 

"Who  else  should  it  be?"  replied  Berwin,  bend- 
ing forward  to  see  who  had  jostled  him.  "Who 
else  should  it  be,  Mr.  Denzil?" 

"But  I  thought — I  thought,"  said  the  barrister, 
unable  to  conceal  his  surprise,  "that  is,  I  fancied  you 
were  indoors." 

"Your  fancy  was  wrong,  you  see.  I  am  not 
indoors." 

"Then  who  is  in  your  house?" 

Berwin  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "No  one,  so 
far  as  I  know." 

"You  are  mistaken,  sir.  There  was  a  light  in 
your  room,  and  I  saw  the  shadows  of  a  man  and  a 
woman  struggling  together  thrown  on  the  blind." 

"People  in  my  house!"  said  Berwin,  laying  a 
shaking  hand  on  the  arm  of  Lucian.  "Impossible !" 

"I  tell  you  it  is  so !" 

"Come,  then,  and  we  will  look  for  them,"  said 
Berwin  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

"But  they  have  gone  by  this  time !" 

20 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  21 

"Gone!" 

"Yes,"  said  Denzil  rapidly.  "I  rang  the  bell, 
as  I  fancied  there  was  some  fatal  quarrel  going  on 
within.  At  once  the  light  was  put  out,  and  as  I 
could  attract  no  one  to  the  door,  I  suppose  the  man 
and  woman  must  have  fled." 

For  a  moment  or  so  Berwin  said  nothing,  but 
his  grip  on  Lucian's  arm  relaxed,  and  he  moved 
forward  a  few  steps.  "You  must  be  mistaken,  Mr. 
Denzil,"  said  he  in  altered  tones,  "there  can  be  no 
person  in  my  house.  I  locked  the  door  before  I 
went  out,  and  I  have  been  absent  at  least  two 
hours." 

"Then  I  must  be  mad,  or  dreaming!"  retorted 
Lucian,  with  heat. 

"We  can  soon  prove  if  you  are  either  of  the 
two,  sir.  Come  with  me  and  examine  the  house 
for  yourself." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Denzil,  drawing  back,  "it 
is  none  of  my  business.  But  I  warn  you,  Mr.  Ber- 
win, that  others  are  more  curious  than  I  am.  Sev- 
eral times  people  have  been  known  to  be  in  your 
house  while  you  were  absent,  and  your  mode  of 
life,  secretive  and  strange,  does  not  commend  itself 
to  the  householders  in  this  neighbourhood.  If  you 
persist  in  giving  rise  to  gossip  and  scandal,  some 
busybody  may  bring  the  police  on  the  scene." 

"The  police!"  echoed  the  old  man,  now  greatly 
alarmed,  as  would  appear  from  his  shaking  voice. 
"No!  no!  That  will  never  do!  My  house  is  my 
castle !  The  police  dare  not  break  into  it !  I  am  a 


22  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

peaceful  and  very  unfortunate  gentleman,  who 
wishes  to  live  quietly.  All  this  talk  of  people  being 
in  my  house  is  nonsense!" 

"Yet  you  seemed  afraid  when  I  told  you  of  the 
shadows,"  said  Lucian  pointedly. 

"Afraid !    I  am  afraid  of  nothing !" 

"Not  even  of  those  who  are  after  you?"  hinted 
Denzil,  recalling  the  conversation  of  the  previous 
occasion. 

Berwin  gave  a  kind  of  eldritch  shriek  and 
stepped  back  a  pace,  as  though  to  place  himself  on 
his  guard.  "What — what  do  you  know  about  such 
— such  things?"  he  panted. 

"Only  so  much  as  you  hinted  at  when  I  last  saw 
you." 

"Yes,  yes !  I  was  not  myself  on  that  night.  The 
wine  was  in  and  the  wit  was  out." 

"The  truth  also,  it  would  seem,"  said  Lucian 
drily,  "judging  by  your  agitation  then  and  now." 

"I  am  an  unfortunate  gentleman,"  whimpered 
Berwin  tremulously. 

"If  you  will  excuse  me,  sir,  I  shall  leave  you," 
said  Lucian  ceremoniously.  "It  seems  to  be  my 
fate  to  hold  midnight  conversations  with  you  in 
the  ccld,  but  I  think  this  one  had  better  be  cut 
short." 

"One  moment,"  Mr.  Berwin  exclaimed.  "You 
have  been  good  enough  to  place  me  on  my  guard  as 
to  the  talk  my  quiet  course  of  life  is  causing.  Pray 
add  to  your  kindness  by  coming  with  me  to  my 
house  and  exploring  it  from  attic  to  basement.  You 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  23 

will  then  see  that  there  are  no  grounds  for  scandal, 
and  that  the  shadows  you  fancy  you  saw  on  the 
blind  are  not  those  of  real  people." 

"They  can't  be  those  of  ghosts,  at  all  events," 
replied  Lucian,  "as  I  never  heard,  to  my  knowl- 
edge, that  spirits  could  cast  shadows." 

"Well,  come  and  see  for  yourself  that  the  house 
is  empty." 

Warmly  as  this  invitation  was  given,  Lucian  had 
some  scruples  about  accepting  it.  To  explore  an 
almost  unfurnished  mansion  with  a  complete  stran- 
ger— and  one  with  an  ill  reputation — at  the  mid- 
night hour,  is  not  an  enterprise  to  be  coveted  by 
any  man,  however  bold  he  may  be.  Still,  Lucian 
had  ample  courage,  and  more  curiosity,  for  the  ad- 
venture, as  the  chance  of  it  stirred  up  that  desire 
for  romance  which  belongs  peculiarly  to  youth. 
Also  he  was  anxious  to  satisfy  himself  concerning 
the  blind  shadows,  and  curious  to  learn  why  Berwin 
inhabited  so  dismal  and  mysterious  a  mansion.  Add 
to  these  reasons  a  keen  pleasure  in  profiting  by  the 
occurrence  of  the  unexpected,  and  you  will  guess 
that  Denzil  ended  by  accepting  the  strange  invita- 
tion of  Berwin. 

Being  now  fully  committed  to  the  adventure,  he 
went  forward  with  cool  courage  and  an  observant 
eye,  to  spy  out,  if  possible,  the  secret  upon  which 
hinged  these  mysteries. 

As  on  the  former  occasion,  Berwin  inducted  his 
guest  into  the  sitting-room,  and  here,  as  previously, 
a  dainty  supper  was  spread.  Berwin  turned  up 


24  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

the  lamp  light  and  waved  his  hand  round  the  lux- 
uriously furnished  room,  pointing  particularly  to 
the  space  between  table  and  window. 

"The  figures  whose  shadows  you  saw,"  said  he, 
"must  have  struggled  together  in  this  space,  so  as 
to  be  between  the  lamp  and  the  blind  for  the  per- 
formance of  their  pantomime.  But  I  would  have 
you  observe,  Mr.  Denzil,  that  there  is  no  disturb- 
ance of  the  furniture  to  show  that  such  a  struggle 
as  you  describe  too  place;  also  that  the  curtains 
are  drawn  across  the  window,  and  no  light  could 
have  been  thrown  on  the  blind." 

"The  curtains  were,  no  doubt,  drawn  after  I  rang 
the  bell,"  said  Lucian,  glancing  towards  the  heavy 
folds  of  crimson  velvet  which  veiled  the  window. 

"The  curtains,"  retorted  Berwin,  stripping  off 
his  coat,  "were  drawn  by  me  before  I  went  out." 

Lucian  said  nothing,  but  shook  his  head  doubt- 
fully. Evidently  Berwin  was  trying,  for  his  own 
ends,  to  talk  him  into  a  belief  that  his  eyes  had 
deceived  him;  but  Denzil  was  too  clear-headed  a 
young  man  to  be  so  gulled.  Berwin's  explanations 
and  excuses  only  confirmed  the  idea  that  there  was 
something  in  the  man's  life  which  cut  him  off  from 
humanity,  and  which  would  not  bear  the  light  of 
day.  Hitherto,  Lucian  had  heard  rather  than  seen 
Berwin;  but  now,  in  the  clear  light  of  the  lamp, 
he  had  an  excellent  opportunity  of  observing  both 
the  man  and  his  quarters. 

Berwin  was  of  medium  height,  and  lean,  with  a 
clean-shaven  face,  hollow  cheeks,  and  black,  sunken 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  25 

eyes.  His  hair  was  grey  and  thin,  his  looks  wild 
and  wandering,  and  the  hectic  colouring  of  his  face 
and  narrow  chest  showed  that  he  was  far  gone  in 
consumption.  Even  as  Lucian  looked  at  him  he 
was  shaken  by  a  hollow  cough,  and  when  he  with- 
drew his  handkerchief  from  his  lips  the  vhite  linen 
was  spotted  with  blood. 

He  was  in  evening  dress,  and  looked  eminently 
refined,  although  worn  and  haggard  in  appearance. 
Denzil  noted  two  peculiar  marks  about  him;  the 
first,  a  serpentine  cicatrice  extending  on  the  right 
cheek  from  lip  almost  to  ear;  the  second,  the  loss 
of  the  little  finger  of  the  left  hand,  which  was  cut 
off  at  the  first  joint.  As  he  examined  the  man  a 
second  and  more  violent  fit  of  coughing  shook  him 
badly  lodged." 

"You  seem  to  be  very  ill,"  said  Lucian,  pitying 
the  feebleness  of  the  poor  creature. 

"Dying  of  consumption — one  lung  gone!" 
gasped  Berwin.  "It  will  soon  be  over — the  sooner 
the  better." 

"With  your  health,  Mr.  Berwin,  it  is  sheer  mad- 
ness to  dwell  in  this  rigorous  English  climate." 

"No  doubt,"  replied  the  man,  pouring  himself 
out  a  tumbler  of  claret,  "but  I  can't  leave  England 
— I  can't  leave  this  house,  even;  but  on  the  whole," 
he  added,  with  a  satisfied  glance  around,  "I  am  not 
badly  lodged." 

Lucian  agreed  with  this  speech.  The  room  was 
furnished  in  the  most  luxurious  manner.  The  pre- 
vailing hue  was  a  deep,  warm  red — carpet,  walls, 


26  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

hangings,  and  furniture  were  all  of  this  cheerful 
tint.  The  chairs  were  deep,  and  softly  cushioned; 
on  the  walls  were  several  oil  paintings  by  celebrated 
modern  artists;  there  were  dwarf  bookcases  filled 
with  well-chosen  books,  and  on  a  small  bamboo 
table  near  the  fire  lay  magazines  and  papers. 

The  mantelpiece,  reaching  nearly  to  the  ceiling, 
was  of  oak,  framing  mirrors  of  bevelled  glass;  and 
on  the  numerous  shelves,  cups,  saucers,  and  vases 
of  old  and  valuable  china  were  placed.  There  was 
also  a  gilt  clock,  a  handsome  sideboard,  and  a  neat 
smoking-table,  on  which  stood  a  cut-glass  spirit- 
stand  and  a  box  of  cigars.  The  whole  apartment 
was  furnished  with  taste  and  refinement,  and  Lu- 
cian  saw  that  the  man  who  owned  such  luxurious 
quarters  must  be  possessed  of  money,  as  well  as 
the  capability  of  using  it  in  the  most  civilised  way. 

"You  have  certainly  all  that  the  heart  of  man 
can  desire  in  the  way  of  material  comforts,"  said 
he,  looking  at  the  supper  table,  which,  with  its 
silver  and  crystal  and  spotless  covering,  glittered 
like  a  jewel  under  the  brilliant  lamplight.  "My  only 
wonder  is  that  you  should  furnish  one  room  so  finely 
and  leave  the  others  bare." 

"My  bedroom  and  bathroom  are  yonder,"  re- 
plied Berwin,  pointing  towards  large  folding  doors 
draped  with  velvet  curtains,  and  placed  opposite  to 
the  window.  "They  are  as  well  furnished  as  this. 
But  how  do  you  know  the  rest  of  this  house  is 
bare?" 

"I  can  hardly  help'knowing  it,  Mr.  Berwin.  Your 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  27 

\ 

contrast  of  poverty  and  riches  is  an  open  secret  in 
this  neighbourhood." 

"No  one  has  been  in  my  house  save  yourself, 
Mr.  Denzil." 

"Oh,  I  have  said  nothing.  You  turned  me  out 
so  quickly  the  other  night  that  I  had  no  time  for 
observation.  Besides,  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of 
remarking  on  matters  which  do  not  concern  me." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Berwin  weakly, 
had  no  intention  of  offending  you.    I  suppose  Mrs. 
Kebby  has  been  talking?" 

"I  should  think  it  probable." 

"The  skirling  Jezebel !"  cried  Berwin.  "I'll  pack 
her  off  right  away!" 

"Are  you  a  Scotchman?"  asked  Denzil  suddenly. 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  demanded  Berwin,  without 
replying. 

"You  used  an  essentially  Scotch  word — 'skirl- 
ing.'  " 

"And  I  used  an  essentially  American  phrase — 
'right  away,'  "  retorted  the  man.  "I  may  be  a 
Scot,  I  may  be  a  Yankee,  but  I  would  remind  you 
that  my  nationality  is  my  own  secret." 

"I  have  no  wish  to  pry  into  your  secrets,"  said 
Denzil,  rising  from  the  chair  in  which  he  had  seated 
himself,  "and  in  my  turn  I  would  remind  you  that 
I  am  here  at  your  invitation." 

"Don't  take  offense  at  a  hasty  word,"  said  Ber- 
win nervously.  "I  am  glad  of  your  company,  al- 
though I  seem  rather  brusque.  You  must  go  over 
the  house  with  me." 


28  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"I  see  no  necessity  to  do  so." 

"It  will  set  your  mind  at  rest  regarding  the  shad- 
ows on  the  blind." 

"I  can  trust  my  eyes,"  said  Lucian,  drily,  "and 
I  am  certain  that  before  I  met  you  a  man  and  a 
woman  were  in  this  room." 

"Well,"  said  Berwin,  lighting  a  small  lamp, 
"come  with  me  and  I'll  prove  that  you  are  mis- 
taken." 


CHAPTER  IV 

MRS.  KEBBY'S  DISCOVERY 

THE  pertinacity  which  Berwin  displayed  in  in- 
sisting that  Lucian  should  explore  the  Silent  House 
was  truly  remarkable.  He  appeared  to  be  bent 
upon  banishing  the  idea  which  Denzil  entertained 
that  strangers  were  hiding  in  the  mansion. 

From  attic  to  basement,  from  front  to  back  prem- 
ises, he  led  the  way,  and  made  Lucian  examine 
every  corner  of  the  empty  rooms.  He  showed  him 
even  the  unused  kitchen,  and  bade  him  remark  that 
the  door  leading  into  the  yard  was  locked  and  bolt- 
ed, and,  from  the  rusty  condition  of  the  ironwork, 
could  not  have  been  opened  for  years.  Also,  he 
made  him  look  out  of  the  window  into  the  yard 
itself,  with  its  tall  black  fence  dividing  it  from 
the  other  properties. 

This  exploration  finished,  and  Lucian  being  con- 
vinced that  himself  and  his  host  were  the  only  two 
living  beings  in  the  house,  Berwin  conducted  his 
half-frozen  guest  back  to  the  warm  sitting-room  and 
poured  out  a  glass  of  wine. 

"Here,  Mr.  Denzil,"  said  he  in  good-natured 
tones,  "drink  this  and  draw  near  the  fire;  you  must 
be  chilled  to  the  bone  after  our  Arctic  expedition." 

29 


30  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Lucian  willingly  accepted  both  these  attentions, 
and  sipped  his  wine — it  was  particularly  fine  claret 
— before  the  fire,  while  Berwin  coughed  and  shiv- 
ered, and  muttered  to  himself  about  the  cold  of  the 
season.  When  Lucian  stood  up  to  take  his  depar- 
ture, he  addressed  him  directly: 

"Well,  sir,"  said  he,  with  a  sardonic  smile,  "are 
you  convinced  that  the  struggling  shadows  on  yon- 
der blind  were  children  of  your  heated  fancy?" 

"No,"  said  Denzil  stoutly,  "I  am  not!" 

"Yet  you  have  seen  that  there  is  no  one  in  the 
house !" 

"Mr.  Berwin,"  said  Lucian,  after  a  moment's 
thought,  "you  propose  a  riddle  which  I  cannot  an- 
swer, and  which  I  do  not  wish  to  answer.  I  cannot 
explain  what  I  saw  to-night,  but  as  surely  as  you 
were  out  of  this  house,  some  people  were  in  it. 
How  this  affects  you,  or  what  reason  you  have  for 
denying  it,  I  do  not  ask.  Keep  your  own  secrets, 
and  go  your  own  way.  I  wish  you  good-night,  sir," 
and  Lucian  moved  towards  the  door. 

Berwin,  who  was  holding  a  full  tumbler  of  rich, 
strong  port,  drank  the  whole  of  it  in  one  gulp.  The 
strong  liquor  reddened  his  pallid  face  and  bright- 
ened his  sunken  eyes;  it  even  strengthened  his  al- 
ready sonorous  voice. 

"At  least  you  can  inform  my  good  neighbours 
that  I  am  a  peaceful  man,  desirous  of  being  left  to 
lead  my  own  life,"  he  said  urgently. 

"No,  sir!  I  wilLhave  nothing  to  do  with  your 
business.  You  are  a  stranger  to  me,  and  our  ac- 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  31 

V 

quaintance  is  too  slight  to  warrant  my  discussing 
your  affairs.  Besides,"  added  Lucian,  with  a  shrug, 
"they  do  not  interest  me." 

"Yet  they  may  interest  the  three  kingdoms  one 
day,"  said  Berwin  softly. 

"Oh,  if  they  deal  with  danger  to  society,"  said 
Denzil,  thinking  his  strange  neighbour  spoke  of 
anarchistic  schemes,  "I  would " 

"They  deal  with  danger  to  myself,"  interrupted 
Berwin.  "I  am  a  hunted  man,  and  I  hide  here  from 
those  who  wish  me  ill.  I  am  dying,  as  you  see,"  he 
cried,  striking  his  hollow  chest,  "but  I  may  not  die 
quickly  enough  for  those  who  desire  my  death." 

"Who  are  they?"  cried  Lucian,  rather  startled 
by  this  outburst. 

"People  with  whom  you  have  no  concern,"  re- 
plied the  man  sullenly. 

"That  is  true  enough,  Mr.  Berwin,  so  I'll  say 
good-night!" 

"Berwin !  Berwin !  Ha !  ha !  A  very  good  name, 
Berwin,  but  not  for  me.  Oh,  was  there  ever  so 
unhappy  a  creature  as  I  ?  False  name,  false  friend, 
in  disgrace,  in  hiding !  Curse  everybody !  Go !  go ! 
Mr.  Denzil,  and  leave  me  to  die  here  like  a  rat 
in  its  hole!" 

"You  are  ill !"  said  Lucian,  amazed  by  the  man's 
fury.  "Shall  I  send  a  doctor  to  see  you?" 

"Send  no  one,"  cried  Berwin,  commanding  him- 
self by  a  visible  effort.  "Only  go  away  and  leave 
me  to  myself.  'Thou  can'st  not  minister  to  a  mind 
diseased.'  Go!  go!" 


32  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Good-night,  then,"  said  Denzil,  seeing  that 
nothing  could  be  done.  "I  hope  you  will  be  better 
in  the  morning." 

Berwin  shook  his  head,  and  with  a  silent  tongue, 
which  contrasted  strangely  with  his  late  outcry,  ush- 
ered Denzil  out  of  the  house. 

As  the  heavy  door  closed  behind  him  Lucian 
descended  the  steps  and  looked  thoughtfully  at  the 
grim  mansion,  which  was  tenanted  by  so  mysteri- 
ous a  person.  He  could  make  nothing  of  Berwin — 
as  he  chose  to  call  himself — he  could  see  no  meaning 
in  his  wild  words  and  mad  behaviour;  but  as  he 
walked  briskly  back  to  his  lodgings  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  man  was  nothing  worse  than  a 
tragic  drunkard,  haunted  by  terrors  engendered  by 
over-indulgence  in  stimulants.  The  episode  of  the 
shadows  on  the  blind  he  did  not  attempt  to  explain, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  he  was  unable  to  find 
any  plausible  explanation  to  account  therefor. 

"And  why  should  I  trouble  my  head  to  do  so?" 
mused  Lucian  as  he  went  to  bed.  "The  man  and 
his  mysteries  are  nothing  to  me.  Bah !  I  have  been 
infected  by  the  vulgar  curiosity  of  the  Square. 
Henceforth  I'll  neither  see  nor  think  of  this 
drunken  lunatic,"  and  with  such  resolve  he  dis- 
missed all  thoughts  of  his  strange  acquaintance  from 
his  mind,  which,  under  the  circumstances,  was  per- 
haps the  wisest  thing  he  could  do. 

But  later  on  certain  events  took  place  which 
forced  him  to  alter  his  determination.  Fate,  with 
her  own  ends  to  bring  about  is  not  to  be  denied  by 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  33 

her  puppets ;  and  of  these  Lucian  was  one,  designed 
for  an  important  part  in  the  drama  which  was  to  be 
played. 

Mrs.  Margery  Kebby,  who  attended  to  the  do- 
mestic economy  of  Berwin's  house,  was  a  deaf  old 
crone  with  a  constant  thirst,  only  to  be  assuaged 
by  strong  drink;  and  a  filching  hand  which  was  usu- 
ally in  every  pocket  save  her  own.  She  had  neither 
kith  nor  kin,  nor  friends,  nor  even  acquaintances; 
but,  being  something  of  a  miser,  scraped  and 
screwed  to  amass  money  she  had  no  need  for,  and 
dwelt  in  a  wretched  little  apartment  in  a  back  slum, 
whence  she  daily  issued  to  work  little  and  pilfer 
much. 

Usually  at  nine  o'clock  she  brought  in  her  em- 
ployer's breakfast  from  the  Nelson  Hotel,  which 
was  outside  the  Square,  and  while  he  was  enjoying 
it  in  bed,  after  his  fashion,  she  cleaned  out  and 
made  tidy  the  sitting-room.  Berwin  then  dressed 
and  went  out  for  a  walk,  despite  Miss  Greeb's  con- 
tention that  he  took  the  air  only  at  night,  like  an 
owl,  and  during  his  absence  Mrs.  Kebby  attended  to 
the  bedroom.  She  then  went  about  her  own  busi- 
ness, which  was  connected  with  the  cleaning  of  vari- 
ous other  apartments,  and  only  returned  at  midday 
and  at  night  to  lay  the  table  for  Berwin's  luncheon 
and  dinner,  or  rather  dinner  and  supper,  which  were 
also  sent  in  from  the  hotel. 

For  these  services  Berwin  paid  her  well,  and  only 
enjoined  her  to  keep  a  quiet  tongue  about  his  pri- 
vate affairs,  which  Mrs.  Kebby  usually  did  until 


34  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

excited  by  too  copious  drams  of  gin,  when  she  talked 
freely  and  unwisely  to  all  the  servants  in  the  Square. 
It  was  to  her  observation  and  invention  that  Berwin 
owed  his  bad  reputation. 

Well-known  in  every  kitchen,  Mrs.  Kebby  hob- 
bled from  one  to  the  other,  gossiping  about  the  vari- 
ous affairs  of  her  various  employers;  and  when  ab- 
solute knowledge  failed  she  took  to  inventing  details 
which  did  no  small  credit  to  her  imagination.  Also, 
she  could  tell  fortunes  by  reading  tea-leaves  and 
shuffling  cards,  and  was  not  above  aiding  the  maid 
servants  in  their  small  love  affairs. 

In  short,  Mrs.  Kebby  was  a  dangerous  old  witch, 
who,  a  century  back,  would  have  been  burnt  at  the 
stake;  and  the  worst  possible  person  for  Berwin 
to  have  in  his  house.  Had  he  known  of  her  lying 
and  prating  she  would  not  have  remained  an  hour 
under  his  roof;  but  Mrs.  Kebby  was  cunning 
enough  to  steer  clear  of  such  a  danger  in  the  most 
dexterous  manner.  She  had  a  firm  idea  that  Ber- 
win had,  in  her  own  emphatic  phrase,  "done  some- 
thing" for  which  he  was  wanted  by  the  police,  and 
was  always  on  the  look  out  to  learn  the  secret  of 
his  isolated  life,  in  order  to  betray  him,  or  black- 
mail him,  or  get  him  in  some  way  under  her  thumb. 
As  yet  she  had  been  unsuccessful. 

Deeming  her  a  weak,  quiet  old  creature,  Berwin, 
in  spite  of  his  suspicious  nature,  entrusted  Mrs. 
Kebby  with  the  key  of  the  front  door,  so  that  she 
could  enter  for  her  morning's  work  without  dis- 
turbing him.  The  sitting-room  door  itself  was  not 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  35 

always  locked,  but  Berwin  usually  bolted  the  portal 
of  his  bedroom,  and  had  invariably  to  rise  and  ad- 
mit Mrs.  Kebby  with  his  breakfast. 

The  same  routine  was  observed  each  morning, 
and  everything  went  smoothly.  Mrs.  Kebby  had 
heard  of  the  blind  shadows  from  several  people, 
and  had  poked  and  pryed  about  all  over  the  house 
in  the  hope  of  arriving  at  some  knowledge  of  the 
substantial  flesh  and  blood  figures  which  cast  them. 
But  in  this  quest,  which  was  intended  to  put  money 
into  her  own  pocket,  she  failed  entirely;  and  dur- 
ing the  whole  six  months  of  Berwin's  tenancy  she 
never  saw  a  living  soul  in  No.  13  save  her  employ- 
er; nor  could  she  ever  find  any  evidence  to  show  that 
Berwin  had  received  visitors  during  her  absence. 
The  man  was  as  great  a  mystery  to  Mrs.  Kebby 
as  he  was  to  the  square,  in  spite  of  her  superior 
opportunities  of  learning  the  truth. 

On  Christmas  Eve  the  old  woman  brought  in 
a  cold  supper  for  Berwin,  as  usual,  making  several 
journeys  to  and  fro  between  hotel  and  house  for 
that  purpose.  She  laid  the  table,  made  up  the  fire, 
and  before  taking  her  leave  asked  Mr.  Berwin  if 
he  wanted  anything  else. 

"No,  I  think  not,"  replied  the  man,  who  looked 
wretchedly  ill.  "You  can  bring  my  breakfast  to- 
morrow." 

"At  nine,  sir?" 

"At  the  usual  time,"  answered  Berwin  impatient- 
ly. "Go  away!" 

Mrs.  Kebby  gave  a  final  glance  round  to  see  that 


36  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

all  was  in  order,  and  shuffled  out  of  the  room  as  fast 
as  her  rheumatism  would  let  her.  As  she  left  the 
house  eight  o'clock  chimed  from  the  steeple  of  a 
near  church,  and  Mrs.  Kebby,  clinking  her  newly- 
received  wages  in  her  pocket,  hurried  out  of  the 
square  to  do  her  Christmas  marketing.  As  she 
went  down  the  street  which  led  to  it,  Blinders,  a 
burly,  ruddy-faced  policeman,  who  knew  her  well, 
stopped  to  make  an  observation. 

"Is  that  good  gentleman  of  yours  home,  Mrs. 
Kebby?"  he  asked,  in  the  loud  tones  used  to  deaf 
people. 

"Oh,  he's  home,"  grumbled  Mrs.  Kebby  ungra- 
ciously, "sittin'  afore  the  fire  like  Solomon  in  all 
his  glory.  What  d'ye  want  to  know  for?" 

"I  saw  him  an  hour  ago,"  explained  Blinders, 
"and  I  thought  he  looked  ill." 

"So  he  do,  like  a  corpse.  What  of  that?  We've 
all  got  to  come  to  it  some  day.  'Ow  d'ye  know 
but  what  he  won't  be  dead  afore  morning?  Well, 
I  don't  care.  He's  paid  me  up  till  to-night.  I'm 
going  to  enj'y  myself,  I  am." 

"Don't  you  get  drunk,  Mrs.  Kebby,  or  I'll  lock 
you  up." 

"Garn!"  grunted  the  old  beldame.  "Wot's 
Christmas  Eve  for,  if  it  ain't  for  folk  to  enj'y  their- 
selves?  Y'are  on  duty  early." 

"I'm  taking  the  place  of  a  sick  comrade,  and 
I'll  be  on  duty  all  night  That's  my  Christmas." 

"Well!  well!    Let  every  one  enj'y  hisself  as  he 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  37 

likes,"  muttered  Mrs.  Kebby,  and  shuffled  off  to  the 
nearest  public  house. 

Here  she  began  to  celebrate  the  season,  and  af- 
terwards went  shopping;  then  she  celebrated  the 
season  again,  and  later  carried  home  her  purchases 
to  the  miserable  garret  she  occupied.  In  this  den 
Mrs.  Kebby,  with  the  aid  of  gin  and  water,  cele- 
brated the  season  until  she  drank  herself  to  sleep. 

Next  morning  she  woke  in  anything  but  an  ami- 
able mood,  and  had  to  fortify  herself  with  an  early 
drink  before  she  was  fit  to  go  about  her  business. 

It  was  almost  nine  when  she  reached  the  Nelson 
Hotel,  and  found  the  covered  tray  with  Mr.  Ber- 
win's  breakfast  waiting  for  her;  so  she  hurried  with 
it  to  Geneva  Square  as  speedily  as  possible,  fearful 
of  a  scolding.  Having  admitted  herself  into  the 
house,  Mrs.  Kebby  took  up  the  tray  with  both 
hands,  and  pushed  open  the  sitting-room  door  with 
her  foot.  Here,  at  the  sight  which  met  her  eyes, 
she  dropped  the  tray  with  a  crash,  and  let  off  a 
shrill  yell. 

The  room  was  in  disorder,  the  table  was  over- 
turned, and  amid  the  wreckage  of  glass  and  china 
lay  Mark  Berwin,  with  outspread  hands — stone 
dead — stabbed  to  the  heart. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  TALK  OF  THE  TOWN 

NOWADAYS,  events,  political,  social,  and  crimi- 
nal, crowd  so  closely  on  one  another's  heels  that 
what  was  formerly  a  nine  days'  wonder  is  scarcely 
marvelled  at  the  same  number  of  minutes.  Yet  in 
certain  cases  episodes  of  a  mysterious  or  unexpected 
nature  engage  the  attention  of  a  careless  world  for  a 
somewhat  longer  period,  and  provoke  an  immense 
amount  of  discussion  and  surmise.  In  this  category 
may  be  placed  the  crime  committed  in  Geneva 
Square;  for  when  the  extraordinary  circumstances 
of  the  case  became  known,  mucR  curiosity  was  man- 
ifested regarding  the  possible  criminal  and  his  mo- 
tive for  committing  so  apparently  useless  a  crime. 

To  add  to  the  wonderment  of  the  public,  it  came 
out  in  the  evidence  of  Lucian  Denzil  at  the  inquest 
that  Berwin  was  not  the  real  name  of  the  victim; 
so  here  the  authorities  were  confronted  with  a  three- 
fold problem.  They  had  first  to  discover  the  name 
of  the  dead  man ;  second,  to  learn  who  it  was  had 
so  foully  murdered  him ;  and  third,  to  find  out  the 
reason  why  the  unknown  assassin  should  have  slain 
an  apparently  harmless  man. 

But  these  hidden  things  were  not  easily  brought 
38 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  39 

to  light;  and  the  meagre  evidence  collected  by  the 
police  failed  to  do  away  with  any  one  of  the  three 
obstacles — at  all  events,  until  after  the  inquest. 
When  the  jury  brought  in  a  verdict  that  the  de- 
ceased had  been  violently  done  to  death  by  some 
person  or  persons  unknown,  the  twelve  good  men 
and  true  stated  the  full  extent  of  knowledge  gained 
by  Justice  in  her  futile  scramble  after  clues.  Ber- 
win — so  called — was  dead,  his  assassin  had  melted 
into  thin  air,  and  the  Silent  House  had  added  a 
second  legend  to  its  already  uncanny  reputation. 
Formerly  it  had  been  simply  haunted,  now  it  was 
also  blood-stained,  and  its  last  condition  was  worse 
than  its  first. 

The  dead  man  had  been  found  stabbed  to  the 
heart  by  some  long,  thin,  sharp-pointed  instrument 
which  the  murderer  had  taken  away  with  him — or 
perhaps  her,  as  the  sex  of  the  assassin,  for  obvious 
reasons,  could  not  be  decided.  Mrs.  Kebby  swore 
that  she  had  left  the  deceased  sitting  over  the  fire 
at  eight  o'clock  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  that  he  had 
then  been  fairly  well,  though  far  from  enjoying 
the  best  of  health.  When  she  returned,  shortly  af- 
ter nine,  on  Christmas  morning,  the  man  was  dead 
and  cold.  Medical  aid  was  called  in  at  the  same 
time  as  the  police  were  summoned;  and  the  evi- 
dence of  the  doctor  who  examined  the  body  went 
to  prove  that  Berwin  had  been  dead  at  least  ten 
hours ;  therefore,  he  must  have  been  assassinated  be- 
tween the  hours  of  eleven  and  twelve  of  the  pre- 
vious night. 


40  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Search  was  immediately  made  for  the  murderer, 
but  no  trace  could  be  found  of  him,  nor  could  it  be 
ascertained  how  he  had  entered  the  house.  The 
doors  were  all  locked,  the  windows  were  all  barred, 
and  neither  at  the  back  nor  in  the  front  was  there 
any  outlet  left  open  whereby  the  man — if  it  was 
a  man  who  had  done  the  deed — could  have  escaped. 

Blinders,  the  policeman  on  duty  at  the  entrance 
of  the  square,  gave  evidence  that  he  had  been  on 
duty  there  all  night,  and  that  although  many  ser- 
vants and  owners  of  houses  belonging  to  the  square 
had  passed  in  from  their  Christmas  marketings,  yet 
no  stranger  had  entered.  The  policeman  knew 
every  one,  even  to  the  errand-boys  of  the  neighbour- 
hood, who  brought  parcels  of  Christmas  goods,  and 
in  many  cases  had  exchanged  greetings  with  the 
passersby;  but  he  was  prepared  to  swear,  and,  in 
fact,  did  swear  at  the  inquest,  that  no  stranger 
either  came  into  or  went  out  of  Geneva  Square. 

Also  he  deposed  that  when  the  traffic  died  away 
after  midnight  he  had  walked  round  the  square,  and 
had  looked  at  every  window,  including  that  of  No. 
13,  and  had  tried  every  door,  also  including  that  of 
No.  13,  only  to  find  that  all  was  safe.  Blinders 
declared  on  oath  that  he  had  not  on  Christmas  Eve 
the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  horrid  tragedy  which 
had  taken  place  in  the  Silent  House  during  the  time 
he  was  on  duty. 

When  the  police  took  possession  of  the  body  and 
mansion,  search  was  made  in  bedroom  and  sitting- 
room  for  papers  likely  to  throw  light  on  the  identity 


41 

of  the  victim,  but  in  vain.  No  letters  or  telegrams, 
or  even  writing  of  any  kind,  could  be  discovered; 
there  was  no  name  in  the  dead  man's  books,  no 
mark  on  his  clothes,  no  initials  on  his  linen. 

The  landlord  of  the  house  declared  that  the  de- 
ceased had  hired  the  mansion  six  months  before,  but 
had  given  no  references,  and  as  the  landlord  was 
glad  to  let  the  haunted  No.  13  on  any  terms,  he 
had  not  insisted  upon  having  them.  The  deceased, 
said  the  landlord,  had  paid  a  month's  rent  in  ad- 
vance in  ready  money,  and  at  the  end  of  every 
month  he  had  discharged  his  liability  in  the  same 
way.  He  gave  neither  cheque  nor  notes,  but  paid 
always  in  gold ;  and  beyond  the  fact  that  he  called 
himself  Mark  Berwin,  the  landlord  knew  nothing 
about  him. 

The  firm  who  had  furnished  the  rooms  made  al- 
most the  same  report,  quite  as  meagre  and  unsatis- 
factory. Mr.  Berwin — so  the  deceased  had  given 
his  name — had  ordered  the  furniture,  and  had  paid 
for  it  in  gold.  Altogether,  in  spite  of  every  effort, 
the  police  were  obliged  to  declare  themselves  beaten. 
They  could  not  find  out  the  name  of  the  victim,  and 
therefore  were  unable  to  learn  his  past  life,  or  trace 
thereby  if  he  had  an  enemy  likely  to  harm  him. 

Beyond  the  report  given  by  Lucian  of  his  con- 
versation with  the  man,  which  showed  that  Berwin 
certainly  had  some  enemy  whom  he  dreaded,  there 
was  nothing  discovered  to  show  reason  for  the  com- 
mittal of  the  crime. 

Berwin — so  called — was  dead;  he  was  buried  un- 


42  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

der  his  assumed  name,  and  there,  so  far  as  the  ob- 
tainable evidence  went,  was  an  end  to  the  strange 
tenant  of  the  Silent  House.  Gordon  Link,  the  de- 
tective charged  with  the  conduct  of  the  case,  con- 
fessed as  much  to  Denzil. 

"I  do  not  see  the  slightest  chance  of  tracing  Ber- 
win's  past,"  said  he  to  the  barrister.  "We  are  as 
ignorant  about  him  as  we  are  of  the  name  of  the 
assassin." 

"Are  you  sure  there  is  no  clue,  Mr.  Link?" 

"Absolutely  none;  even  the  weapon  with  which 
the  crime  was  committed  cannot  be  found." 

"You  have  searched  the  house  ?" 

"Every  inch  of  it,  and  with  the  result  that  I  have 
found  nothing.  The  surroundings  of  the  case  are 
most  mysterious.  If  we  do  not  identify  the  dead 
we  cannot  hope  to  trace  the  murderer.  How  the 
wretch  got  into  the  house  is  more  than  I  can  dis- 
cover." 

"It  is  strange,"  admitted  Lucian  thoughtfully, 
"yet  in  some  secret  way  people  were  in  the  habit  of 
entering  the  house,  and  Berwin  knew  as  much;  not 
only  that,  but  he  protected  them  from  curiosity  by 
denying  that  they  even  existed." 

"I  don't  quite  follow  you,  Mr.  Denzil." 

"I  allude  to  the  shadows  on  the  blind,  which  I 
saw  myself  a  week  before  the  murder  took  place. 
They  were  those  of  a  man  and  a  woman,  and  must 
have  been  cast  by  bodies  of  flesh  and  blood.  There- 
fore, two  people  must  have  been  in  Berwin's  sit- 
ting-room on  that  night ;  yet  when  I  met  Berwin — 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  43 

who  was  absent  at  the  time — he  denied  that  any- 
one could  have  entered  his  house  without  his  knowl- 
edge. More,  he  actually  insisted  that  I  should  sat- 
isfy myself  as  to  the  truth  of  this  by  examining  the 
house." 

"Which  you  did?" 

"Yes,  but  found  nothing;  yet,"  said  Lucian,  with 
an  air  of  conviction,  "however  the  man  and  woman 
entered,  they  were  in  the  house." 

"Then  the  assassin  must  have  come  in  by  the 
same  way;  but  where  that  way  can  be,  or  how  it 
can  be  found,  is  more  than  I  can  say." 

"Does  the  landlord  know  of  any  secret  pas- 
sages?" 

"No;  I  asked  him,"  replied  the  detective,  "but  he 
stated  that  houses  nowadays  were  not  built  with 
secret  passages.  When  Berwin  denied  that  anyone 
was  in  the  house,  was  he  afraid,  Mr.  Denzil?" 

"Yes,  he  seemed  to  be  nervous." 

"And  he  told  you  he  had  enemies?" 

"He  hinted  that  there  were  people  who  wished 
to  see  him  dead.  From  the  way  he  spoke  and  the 
language  he  used  I  am  satisfied  that  he  was  hiding 
from  the  vengeance  of  some  one." 

"Vengeance!"  repeated  Link,  raising  his  eye- 
brows. "Is  not  that  word  a  trifle  melodramatic?" 

"Perhaps;  but  to  my  mind  there  is  more  melo- 
drama in  actual  life  than  people  fancy.  However, 
Mr.  Link,"  added  Lucian,  "I  have  come  to  certain 
conclusions.  Firstly,  that  Berwin  was  in  hiding; 
secondly,  that  he  saw  people  secretly  who  entered  in 


44  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

some  way  we  cannot  discover;  and  thirdly,  that  to 
solve  the  problem  it  will  be  necessary  to  look  into 
the  past  life  of  the  dead  man." 

"Your  third  conclusion  brings  us  round  to  the 
point  whence  we  started,"  retorted  Link.  "How 
am  I  to  discover  the  man's  past?" 

"By  learning  who  he  is,  and  what  is  his  real 
name." 

"An  easy  task,"  said  the  detective  sarcastically, 
"considering  the  meagre  material  upon  wriich  we 
have  to  work.  And  how  is  the  business  to  be  ac- 
complished?" 

"By  advertisement." 

"Advertisement!" 

"Yes.  I  wonder  the  idea  did  not  strike  you  be- 
fore, seeing  how  often  it  is  used  in  similar  cases. 
Advertise  a  full  description  of  the  man  who  called 
himself  Berwin,  note  his  physical  peculiarities  and 
looks,  and  circulate  such  description  by  means  of 
handbills  and  newspapers." 

Link  looked  angry,  and  laughed  rather  contempt- 
uously, as  his  professional  pride  was  touched  by  the 
fact  of  being  advised  by  an  individual  not  of  his 
calling. 

"I  am  not  so  ignorant  of  my  business  as  you 
think,"  he  said  sharply.  "What  you  suggest  has 
already  been  done.  There  are  handbills  describing 
the  appearance  of  Berwin  in  every  police  office  in 
the  kingdom." 

"In  the  newspapers,  also?"  asked  Lucian,  net- 
tled by  the  detective's  tone. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  45 

s. 

"No;  it  is  not  necessary." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you.  Many  people  in  pri- 
vate life  are  not  likely  to  see  your  handbills.  I  don't 
pretend  to  advise,  Mr.  Link,"  he  added  in  soothing 
tones,  "but  would  it  not  be  wise  to  use  the  medium 
of  the  daily  papers?" 

"I'll  think  of  it,"  said  Link,  too  jealous  of  his 
dignity  to  give  way  at  once. 

"Oh,  I  quite  rely  on  your  discretion,"  said  Denzil 
hastily.  "You  know  your  own  business  best.  But 
if  you  succeed  in  identifying  Berwin,  will  you  let 
me  know?" 

Link  looked  keenly  at  the  young  man. 

"Why  do  you  wish  to  know  about  the  matter?" 
he  asked. 

"Out  of  simple  curiosity.  The  case  is  so  myste- 
rious that  I  should  like  to  watch  you  unravel  it." 

"Well,  said  Link,  rather  gratified  by  this  tribute 
to  his  power,  "I  shall  indulge  your  fancy." 

The  result  of  this  conversation  was  that  Lucian 
observed  in  the  newspapers  next  day  an  advertise- 
ment describing  the  looks  and  name,  and  physical 
peculiarities  of  the  deceased,  with  special  mention 
of  the  loss  of  the  left  hand's  little  finger,  and  the 
strange  cicatrice  on  the  right  cheek.  Satisfied  that 
the  only  way  to  learn  the  truth  had  been  adopted 
by  the  authorities,  Lucian  impatiently  waited  for 
the  development  of  the  scheme. 

Within  the  week  he  received  a  visit  from  the  de- 
tective. 

"You  were  right  and  I  was  wrong,  Mr.  Denzil," 


46  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

admitted  Link  generously.  "The  newspapers  were 
of  more  use  than  the  handbills.  Yesterday  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  a  lady  who  is  coming  to  see 
me  to-morrow  at  my  office.  So  if  you  care  to  be 
present  at  the  interview  you  have  only  to  say  so." 

"I  should  like  it  above  all  things,"  said  Lucian 
eagerly.  "Who  is  the  lady?" 

"A  Mrs.  Vrain,  who  writes  from  Bath." 

"Can  she  identify  the  dead  man?" 

"She  thinks  she  can,  but,  of  course,  she  cannot 
be  certain  until  she  sees  the  body.  Going  by  the 
description,  however,"  added  Link,  "she  is  inclined 
to  believe  that  Berwin  was  her  husband." 


CHAPTER  VI 

MRS.  VRAIN' s  STORY 

DENZIL  was  much  pleased  with  the  courtesy  of 
the  detective  Link  in  permitting  him  to  gain,  at 
first  hand,  further  details  of  this  mysterious  case. 
With  a  natural  curiosity,  engendered  by  his  short 
acquaintance  with  the  unfortunate  Berwin,  he  was 
most  anxious  to  learn  why  the  man  had  secluded 
himself  from  the  world  in  Geneva  Square;  who 
were  the  enemies  he  hinted  at  as  desirous  of  his 
death ;  and  in  what  manner  and  for  what  reason  he 
had  met  with  so  barbarous  a  fate  at  their  hands.  It 
seemed  likely  that  Mrs.  Vrain,  who  asserted  her- 
self to  be  the  wife  of  the  deceased,  would  be  able 
to  answer  these  questions  in  full ;  therefore,  he  was 
punctual  in  keeping  the  appointment  at  the  office 
of  Link. 

He  was  rather  astonished  to  find  that  Mrs.  Vrain 
had  arrived,  and  was  deep  in  conversation  with  the 
detective,  while  a  third  person,  who  had  evidently 
accompanied  her,  sat  near  at  hand,  silent,  but  at- 
tentive to  what  was  being  discussed.  As  the  dead 
man  had  been  close  on  sixty  years  of  age,  and  Mrs. 
Vrain  claimed  to  be  his  wife,  Denzil  had  quite  ex- 

47 


48  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

pected  to  meet  with  an  elderly  woman.  Instead  of 
doing  so,  however,  he  beheld  a  pretty  young  lady 
of  not  more  than  twenty-five,  whose  raiment  of  wid- 
ow's weeds  set  off  her  beauty  to  the  greatest  advan- 
tage. She  was  a  charming  blonde,  with  golden 
hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  a  complexion  of  rose-leaf 
hue.  In  spite  of  her  grief  her  demeanour  was  lively 
and  engaging,  and  her  smile  particularly  attractive, 
lighting  up  her  whole  face  in  the  most  fascinating 
manner.  Her  hands  and  feet  were  small,  her  stat- 
ure was  that  of  a  fairy,  and  her  figure  was  perfect  in 
every  way. 

Altogether,  Mrs.  Vrain  looked  like  a  sylph  or  a 
dainty  shepherdess  of  Dresden  china,  and  should 
have  been  arrayed  in  gossamer  robes,  rather  than  in 
the  deep  mourning  she  affected.  Indeed,  Lucian 
considered  that  such  weeds  were  rather  premature, 
as  Mrs.  Vrain  could  not  yet  be  certain  that  the 
murdered  man  was  her  husband;  but  she  looked  so 
charming  and  childlike  a  creature  that  he  forgave 
her  being  too  eager  to  consider  herself  a  widow. 
Perhaps  with  such  an  elderly  husband  her  eagerness 
was  natural. 

From  this  charming  vision  Lucian's  eyes  wan- 
dered to  the  attentive  third  person,  a  rosy-cheeked, 
plump  little  man,  of  between  fifty  and  sixty.  From 
his  resemblance  to  Mrs.  Vrain — for  he  had  the 
same  blue  eyes  and  pink-and-white  complexion — 
Lucian  guessed  that  he  was  her  father,  and  such, 
indeed,  proved  to  be  the  case.  Link,  on  Lucian's 
entrance,  introduced  him  to  the  sylph  in  black,  who 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  49 

in  her  turn  presented  him  to  the  silvery-haired,  be- 
nevolent old  man,  whom  she  called  Mr.  Jabez 
Clyne. 

At  the  first  sound  of  their  voices  Lucian  detected 
so  pronounced  a  twang,  and  so  curious  a  way  of 
collocating  words,  as  to  conclude  that  Mrs.  Vrain 
and  her  amiable  parent  hailed  from  the  States.  The 
little  lady  seemed  to  pride  herself  on  this,  and  indi- 
cated her  republican  origin  in  her  speech  more  than 
was  necessary — at  least,  Denzil  thought  so.  But 
then,  on  occasions,  he  was  disposed  to  be  hyper- 
critical. 

"Say,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Vrain,  casting  an  ap- 
proving glance  on  Lucian's  face,  "I'm  right  down 
glad  to  see  you.  Mr.  Link  here  was  just  saying  you 
knew  my  husband,  Mr.  Vrain." 

"I  knew  him  as  Mr.  Berwin — Mark  Berwin," 
replied  Denzil,  taking  a  seat. 

"Just  think  of  that  now!"  cried  Mrs.  Vrain, 
with  a  liveliness  rather  subdued  in  compliment  to 
her  apparel;  "and  his  real  name  was  Mark  Vrain. 
Well,  I  guess  he  won't  need  no  name  now,  poor 
man,"  and  the  widow  touched  her  bright  eyes  care- 
fully with  a  doll's  pocket-handkerchief,  which  Lu- 
cian noted,  somewhat  cynically,  was  perfectly  dry. 

"Maybe  he's  an  angel  by  this  time,  Lyddy,"  said 
Mr.  Clyne,  in  a  cheerful,  chirping  voice,  "so  it  ain't 
no  use  wishing  him  back,  as  I  can  see.  We've  all 
got  to  negotiate  kingdom-come  some  time  or  an- 
other." 

"Not  in  the  same  way,  I  hope,"  said  Lucian 


50  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

dryly.  "But  I  beg  your  pardon,  Link,  I  interrupt 
your  conversation." 

"By  no  means,"  replied  the  detective  readily. 
"We  had  just  begun  when  you  entered,  Mr. 
Denzil." 

"And  it  wasn't  much  of  a  talk,  anyhow,"  said 
Mrs.  Vrain.  "I  was  only  replying  to  some  stupid 
questions." 

"Stupid,  if  you  will,  but  necessary,"  observed 
Link,  with  gravity.  "Let  us  continue.  Are  you 
certain  that  this  dead  man  is — or  rather  was — your 
husband?" 

"I'm  as  sure  as  sure  can  be,  sir.  Berwin  Manor 
is  the  name  of  our  place  near  Bath,  and  it  looks 
as  though  my  husband  called  himself  after  it  when 
he  changed  his  colours.  And  isn't  his  first  name 
Mark?"  pursued  the  pretty  widow.  "Well,  my 
husband  was  called  Mark,  too,  so  there  you  are — 
Mark  Berwin." 

"Is  this  all  your  proof?"  asked  Link  calmly. 

"I  guess  not,  though  it's  enough,  I  should  say. 
My  husband  had  a  mark  on  his  right  cheek — got  it 
fighting  a  duel  with  a  German  student  when  he 
was  having  a  high  time  as  one  of  the  boys  at  Heidel- 
berg. Then  he  lost  part  of  his  little  finger — left- 
hand  finger — in  an  accident  out  West.  What  other 
proof  do  you  want,  Mr.  Link?" 

"The  proofs  you  Have  given  seem  sufficient,  Mrs. 
Vrain,  but  may  I  ask  when  your  husband  left  his 
home?" 

"About  a  year  ago,  eh,  poppa?" 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  51 

"You  are  overdoing  it,  Lyddy,"  corrected  the 
father.  "Size  it  up  as  ten  months,  and  you'll  do." 

"Ten  months,"  said  Lucian  suddenly,  "and  Mr. 
Berwin- 

"Vrain!"  struck  in  Lydia,  the  widow,  "Mark 
Vrain." 

"I  beg  your  pardon !  Well,  Mark  Vrain  took 
the  house  in  Geneva  Square  six  months  back.  Where 
was  he  during  the  other  four?" 

"Ask  me  something  easier,  Mr.  Denzil.  I  know 
no  more  than  you  do." 

"Did  you  not  know  where  he  went  on  leaving 
Berwin  Manor?" 

"Sakes !  how  should  I  ?  Mark  and  I  didn't  pull 
together  nohow,  so  he  kicked  over  the  traces  and 
made  tracks  for  the  back  of  beyond." 

"And  you  might  square  it,  Lyddy,  by  saying  as 
'twasn't  you  who  upset  the  apple  cart." 

"Well,  I  should  smile  to  think  so,"  said  Mrs. 
Vrain  vigorously.  "I  was  as  good  as  pie  to  that 
old  man." 

"You  did  not  get  on  well  together?"  said  Link 
sharply. 

"Got  on  as  well  as  a  cat  hitched  along  with  a  dog. 
My  stars!  there  was  no  living  with  him.  If  he 
hadn't  left  me,  I'd  have  left  him — that's  an  al- 
mighty truth." 

"So  the  gist  of  all  this  is  that  Mr.  Vrain  left 
you  ten  months  ago,  and  did  not  leave  his  address  ?" 

"That's  so,"  said  the  widow  calmly.  "I've  not 
seen  nor  heard  of  him  for  most  a  year,  till  pop  there 


52  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

tumbled  across  your  paragraph  in  the  papers.  Then 
I  surmised  from  the  name  and  the  missing  fin- 
ger and  the  scarred  cheek,  that  I'd  dropped  right  on 
to  Mark.  I  wouldn't  take  all  this  trouble  for  any 
one  else;  no,  sir,  not  me!" 

"My  Lyddy  does  not  care  about  being  a  grass- 
widow,  gentlemen." 

"I  don't  mind  being  a  grass-widow  or  a  real  one, 
so  long  as  I  know  how  to  ticket  myself,"  said  the 
candid  Lydia ;  "but  seems  to  me  there's  no  question 
that  Mark's  sent  in  his  checks." 

"I  certainly  think  that  this  man  who  called  him- 
self Berwin  was  your  husband,"  said  Denzil,  for 
Mrs.  Vrain's  eyes  rested  on  him,  and  she  seemed 
to  expect  an  answer. 

"Well,  then,  that  means  I'm  Mr.  Vrain's 
widow?" 

"I  should  say  so." 

"And  entitled  to  all  his  pile  ?" 

"That  depends  on  the  will,"  said  Lucian  dryly, 
for  the  light  tone  of  the  pretty  woman  jarred  upon 
his  ear. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  replied  Mrs.  Vrain,  put- 
ting a  gold-topped  smelling  bottle  to  her  nose.  "I 
saw  the  will  made,  and  know  exactly  how  I  come 
out.  The  old  man's  daughter  by  his  first  wife  gets 
the  manor  and  the  rents,  and  I  take  the  assurance 
money!" 

"Was  Mr.  Berwin — I  beg  pardon,  Vrain — was 
he  married  twice?" 

"I  should  think  so!"  said  Lydia.     "He  was  a 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  53 

widower  with  a  grown-up  daughter  when  I  took 
him  to  church.  Well,  can  I  get  this  assurance 
money?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Link,  "provided  you  can 
prove  your  husband's  death." 

"Sakes  alive !"  cried  Mrs.  Vrain  briskly.  "Wasn't 
he  murdered?" 

"The  man  called  Berwin  was  murdered." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  rosy-cheeked  Clyne,  with 
more  sharpness  than  might  have  been  expected  from 
his  peaceful  aspect,  "and  ain't  Berwin  Vrain?" 

"It  would  seem  so,"  replied  Link  coolly.  "All 
your  evidence  goes  to  prove  it,  yet  the  assurance 
company  may  not  be  satisfied  with  the  proof.  I 
expect  the  grave  will  have  to  be  opened,  and  the 
remains  identified." 

"Ugh !"  said  Mrs.  Vrain  with  a  shrug,  "how  dis- 
gusting! I  mean,"  she  added,  colouring  as  she  saw 
that  Lucian  was  rather  shocked  by  her  flippancy, 
"that  sorry  as  I  am  for  the  old  man,  he  wasn't  a 
good  husband  to  me,  and  corpses  a  week  old  ain't 
pleasant  things  to  look  on." 

"Lyddy,"  interposed  Clyne,  hastening  to  obliter- 
ate, if  possible,  the  impression  made  on  the  two  men 
by  this  foolish  speech,  "how  you  do  go  on.  But 
you  know  your  heart  is  better  than  your  tongue." 

"It  was,  to  put  up  so  long  with  Mr.  Vrain,"  said 
Lydia  resentfully;  "but  I'm  honest,  if  I'm  nothing 
else.  I  guess  I'm  sorry  that  Vrain  got  stuck  like 
a  pig;  but  it  wasn't  my  fault,  and  I've  done  my 
best  to  show  respect  by  wearing  black.  But  it  is  no 


54  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

good  going  on  in  this  way,  poppa,  for  I've  no  call 
to  excuse  myself  to  strangers.  What  I  want  to 
know  is  how  I'm  going  to  get  the  dollars." 

"You'll  have  to  see  the  assurance  company  about 
that,"  said  Link  coldly;  "my  business  with  you, 
Mrs.  Vrain,  is  about  this  murder." 

"I  know  nothing  about  it,"  retorted  the  widow. 
"I  haven't  set  eyes  on  Mark  for  most  a  year." 

"Have  you  any  idea  who  killed  him?" 

"I  guess  not!    How  should  I?" 

"You  might  know  if  he  had  enemies." 

"He,"  said  Mrs.  Vrain,  with  supreme  contempt, 
"why,  he  hadn't  backbone  enough  for  folks  to  get 
riz  at  him !  He  was  half  baked !" 

"Crazy,  that  is,"  remarked  Clyne;  "always 
thought  the  world  was  against  him,  and  folks  want- 
ed to  get  quit  of  him.' 

"He  said  he  had  enemies,"  hinted  Lucian. 

"You  bet!  He  no  doubt  made  out  that  all  Eu- 
rope was  against  him,"  said  Clyne.  "That  was  my 
son-in-law  all  over.  Lyddy  and  he  had  a  tiff,  just 
like  other  married  couples,  and  he  clears  out  to  lie 
low  in  an  out-of-the-way  shanty  in  Pimlico.  I  tell 
you,  gentlemen,  that  Vrain  had  a  chip  out  of  his 
head.  He  fancied  things,  he  did;  but  no  one  want- 
ed to  harm  him  that  I  know  of." 

"Yet  he  died  a  violent  death,"  said  Denzil 
gravely. 

"That's  a  frozen  fact,  sir,"  cried  Clyne,  "and 
both  Lyddy  and  I  want  to  lynch  the  reptile  as  did 
it;  but  we  neither  of  us  know  who  laid  him  out." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  55 

"I'm  sure  I  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Vrain  in  a  weeping 
voice.  "Every  one  that  I  knew  was  civil  to  him; 
he  had  no  one  who  wanted  to  kill  him  when  he 
left  Berwin  Manor.  Why  he  went  away,  or  how  he 
died,  I  can't  say." 

"If  you  want  to  know  how  he  died,"  explained 
Link,  "I  can  tell  you.  He  was  stabbed." 

"So  the  journals  said;  with  a  bowie!" 

"No,  not  with  a  bowie,"  corrected  Lucian,  "but 
with  some  long,  sharp  instrument." 

"A  dagger?"  suggested  Clyne. 

"I  should  be  even  more  precise,"  said  Denzil 
slowly.  "I  should  say  a  stiletto — an  Italian  sti- 
letto." 

"A  stiletto!"  gasped  Mrs.  Vrain,  whose  delicate 
pink  colour  had  faded  to  a  chalky  white.  "Oh! — 
oh!  I — I "  and  she  fainted  forthwith. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  ASSURANCE  MONEY 

MRS.  VRAIN'S  fainting  fit  was  of  no  great  dura- 
tion, and  she  shortly  recovered  her  senses,  but  not 
her  sprightliness.  Her  excuse  was  that  the  long 
discussion  of  her  husband's  murder,  and  the  too 
precise  details  related  to  her  by  Link  before  Den- 
zil's  arrival,  had  so  wrought  on  her  nerves  as  to 
occasion  her  temporary  indisposition. 

This  reason,  which  was  a  trifle  weak,  since  she 
seemed  to  bear  her  husband's  loss  with  great  stoi- 
cism, awakened  suspicions  in  Lucian's  mind  as  to  her 
truthfulness.  However,  these  were  too  vague  and 
confused  to  be  put  into  words,  so  the  young  man 
remained  silent  until  Mrs.  Vrain  and  her  father 
departed.  This  they  did  almost  immediately,  after 
the  widow  had  given  her  London  and  country  ad- 
dresses to  the  detective,  in  case  he  should  require 
her  "in  the  conduct  of  the  case. 

This  matter  being  attended  to,  she  left  the  room, 
with  a  parting  smile  and  especial  bow  to  Lucian. 

Link  smiled  in  his  turn  as  he  observed  this  Par- 
thian shaft,  the  shooting  of  which  was  certainly 
out  of  keeping  with  Mrs.  Vrain's  character  of  a 
mourning  widow. 

56 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  57 

"You  seem^to  have  made  an  impression  on  the 
lady,  Mr.  Denzil,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  cough  to 
conceal  his  amusement. 

"Nonsense!"  replied  Lucian,  his  fair  face  crim- 
soning with  vexation.  "She  seems  to  me  one  of 
those  shallow  women  who  would  sooner  flirt  with  a 
tinker  than  pass  unnoticed  by  the  male  sex.  I  don't 
like  her,"  he  concluded,  with  some  abruptness. 

"On  what  grounds?" 

"Well,  she  spoke  very  hardly  about  her  hus- 
band, and  seemed  rather  more  concerned  about  this 
assurance  money  than  his  death.  She  is  a  flippant 
doll,  with  a  good  deal  of  the  adventuress  about 
her.  I  don't  think,"  said  the  barrister  significant- 
ly, "that  she  is  altogether  so  ignorant  of  this  matter 
as  she  pretends  to  be." 

The  detective  raised  his  eyebrows.  "You  don't 
propose  to  accuse  her  of  the  murder?"  he  asked 
sceptically. 

"Oh,  no!"  answered  Denzil  hastily.  "I  don't 
say  she  is  as  guilty  as  all  that ;  but  she  knows  some- 
thing, or  suspects  something." 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?" 

"She  fainted  at  the  mention  of  stiletto;  and  I 
am  convinced  that  Vrain — as  I  suppose  we  must 
call  him  now — was  killed  with  one.  And  again, 
Link,  this  woman  admitted  that  she  had  married 
her  elderly  husband  in  Florence.  Now,  Florence, 
as  you  know,  is  an  Italian  town;  a  stiletto  is  an 
Italian  weapon.  Putting  these  two  things  together, 
what  do  you  make  of  Mrs.  Vrain's  fainting?" 


58  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"I  make  nothing  of  it,  Mr.  Denzil.  You  are 
too  suspicious.  The  woman  had  no  reason  to  rid 
herself  of  her  husband  as  you  hint." 

"What  about  the  assurance  money?" 

"There  is  a  motive  there,  certainly — a  motive 
of  gain.  Still,  I  think  you  are  making  a  mountain 
out  of  a  molehill,  for  I  am  satisfied  that  she  knows 
no  more  who  committed  the  crime  than  does  the 
Pope  himself." 

"It  is  as  well  to  look  in  every  direction,"  said 
Lucian  obstinately. 

"Meaning  that  I  should  follow  this  clue  you 
suggest,  which  has  no  existence  save  in  your  own 
fancy.  Well,  I'll  keep  my  eye  on  Mrs.  Vrain,  you 
may  be  sure  of  that.  It  won't  be  difficult,  as  she 
will  certainly  stay  in  town  until  she  identifies  the 
body  of  her  dead  husband  and  gets  the  money.  If 
she  is  guilty,  I'll  track  her  down ;  but  I  am  certain 
she  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  crime.  If  she  had, 
it  is  not  likely  that  she  would  enter  the  lion's  den 
by  coming  to  see  me.  No,  no,  Mr.  Denzil;  you 
have  found  a  mare's  nest." 

Lucian  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  took  up  his 
hat  to  go. 

"You  may  be  right,"  said  he  reluctantly,  "but  I 
have  my  doubts  of  Mrs.  Vrain,  and  shall  continue 
to  have  them  until  she  supplies  a  more  feasible  ex- 
planation of  her  fainting.  In  the  meantime,  I'll 
leave  you  to  follow  out  the  case  in  the  manner  you 
judge  best.  We  shall  see  who  is  right  in  the  long 
run,"  and  Denzil,  still  holding  to  his  opinion,  took 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  59 

his  departure,''  leaving  Link  confident  that  the  young 
man  did  not  know  what  he  was  talking  about. 

As  the  detective  sat  thinking  over  the  late  con- 
versation, and  wondering  if  he  could  shape  any 
definite  course  out  of  it,  Denzil  put  his  head  in  at 
the  door. 

"I  say,  Link,"  he  called  out,  "you'd  better  find 
out  if  Mrs.  Vrain  is  really  the  wife  of  this  dead 
man  before  you  are  guided  by  her  story!"  After 
which  speech  he  hurriedly  withdrew,  leaving  Link 
to  digest  it  at  his  leisure. 

At  first,  Link  was  indignant  that  Denzil  should 
deem  him  so  easily  hoodwinked  as  the  speech  im- 
plied. Afterwards  he  began  to  laugh. 

"Wife!"  said  he  to  himself.  "Of  course  she  is 
the  man's  wife !  She  knows  too  much  about  him 
to  be  otherwise;  but  even  granting  that  Denzil  is 
right — which  I  don't  for  a  moment  admit — there  is 
no  need  for  me  to  prove  the  truth  of  his  assumption. 
If  this  pretty  woman  is  not  the  true  wife  of  Ber- 
win,  or  Vrain,  or  whatever  this  dead  man's  name 
actually  may  be,  the  assurance  company  will  get 
at  the  rights  of  the  matter  before  paying  over  the 
money." 

Subsequent  events  reflected  credit  on  this  philo- 
sophical speech  and  determination  of  Mr.  Link. 
Had  Mrs.  Vrain  been  an  imposter,  her  house  of 
cards  would  have  been  knocked  down,  as  soon  as 
reared,  by  the  searching  inquny  instituted  by  the 
Sirius  Assurance  Company.  It  appeared  that  the 
rlife  of  the  late  Mark  Vrain  was  on  the  books  of 


60  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

the  company  for  no  less  a  sum  than  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds ;  and  under  the  will  this  was  to  be  paid 
over  to  Lydia  Vrain,  nee  Clyne.  The  widow,  aided 
by  her  father — who  was  a  shrewd  business  man,  in 
spite  of  his  innocent  looks — and  the  family  lawyer 
of  the  Vrains,  went  systematically  to  work  to  es- 
tablish her  own  identity,  the  death  of  her  husband, 
and  her  consequent  right  to  the  money. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  prove  that  the 
dead  man  was  really  Vrain.  There  was  some  little 
difficulty  in  obtaining  an  order  from  the  authorities 
for  the  opening  of  the  grave  and  the  exhumation  of 
the  body ;  but  finally  the  consent  of  those  in  power 
was  obtained,  and  there  was  little  difficulty  in  the 
identification  of  the  remains.  The  lawyer,  Mr. 
Clyne,  Mrs.  Vrain  herself,  and  several  people 
brought  up  from  Bath  by  the  assurance  company, 
swore  that  the  corpse — buried  under  the  false  name 
of  Berwin — was  that  of  Mark  Vrain,  for  decom- 
position had  not  proceeded  so  far  but  what  the 
features  could  be  recognised.  There  was  even  no 
need  to  unwrap  the  body  from  its  cerements,  as 
the  face  itself,  and  the  scar  thereon,  were  quite 
sufficient  for  the  friends  of  the  deceased  to  swear 
to  the  corpse.  Thereupon  the  assurance  company, 
on  the  fullest  of  evidence,  was  compelled  to  admit 
that  their  client  was  dead,  and  expressed  themselves 
ready  to  pay  over  the  money  to  Mrs.  Vrain  as  soon 
as  the  will  should  be  proved. 

Pending  the  legal  process  necessary  to  do  this, 
the  widow  made  a  great  parade  of  her  grief  and 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  61 

affection  for  the  dead  man.  She  had  the  body  re- 
enclosed  in  a  new  and  sumptuous  coffin,  and  re- 
moved the  same  to  Bervvin  Manor,  near  Bath, 
where,  after  a  short  lapse  of  time,  it  was  duly  placed 
in  the  family  vault  of  the  Vrains. 

The  widow,  having  thus  disposed  of  her  hus- 
band, bethought  herself  of  her  stepdaughter,  who 
at  that  time  was  on  a  visit  to  some  friends  in  Aus- 
tralia. A  long  letter,  giving  full  details,  was  de- 
spatched by  Mrs.  Vrain,  and  the  daughter  was  re- 
quested, both  by  the  widow  and  the  lawyer,  to  come 
back  to  England  at  once  and  take  up  her  abode  in 
Berwin  Manor,  which,  with  its  surrounding  acres, 
had  been  left  to  her  under  the  will. 

Matters  connected  with  the  death  and  its  con- 
sequences having  been  disposed  of  thus  far,  Mrs. 
Vrain  sat  down,  and,  folding  her  hands,  waited  till 
such  time  as  she  would  receive  the  assurance  money, 
and  begin  a  new  life  as  a  wealthy  and  fascinating 
widow.  Every  one  said  that  the  little  woman  had 
behaved  very  well,  and  that  Vrain — weak-headed 
as  he  was  supposed  to  be — had  shown  excellent 
judgment  in  dividing  his  property,  real  and  per- 
sonal, so  equally  between  the  two  claimants.  Miss 
Vrain,  as  became  the  child  of  the  first  wife,  re- 
ceived the  home  and  acres  of  her  ancestors;  while 
the  second  wife  obtained  the  assurance  money, 
which  every  one  candidly  admitted  she  quite  de- 
served for  having  sacrificed  her  youth  and  beauty  to 
an  old  man  like  Vrain.  In  those  days,  when  all 


62  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

these  details  were  being  settled,  the  widow  was  the 
most  popular  personage  in  Bath. 

Matters  went  smoothly  with  Mrs.  Vrain  in  every 
respect.  The  will  was  duly  proved,  the  twenty 
thousand  pounds  was  duly  paid  over;  so,  finding 
herself  rich,  the  widow  came  with  her  father  to 
take  up  her  abode  in  London.  When  settled  there 
one  of  her  first  acts  was  to  send  a  note  to  Lucian, 
telling  him  that  she  was  in  town.  The  good  looks 
of  the  young  man  had  made  a  considerable  impres- 
sion on  Mrs.  Vrain,  and  she  appeared  anxious  to 
renew  the  acquaintance,  although  it  had  been  so 
inauspiciously  begun  in  the  purlieus  of  the  police 
courts. 

On  his  part,  Lucian  lost  no  time  in  paying  his  re- 
spects, for  after  the  searching  inquiry  conducted 
by  the  Sirius  Assurance  Company,  out  of  which 
ordeal  Mrs.  Vrain  had  emerged  unscathed,  he  be- 
gan to  think  that  he  had  been  too  hasty  in  con- 
demning the  little  widow.  So  he  called  upon  her 
almost  immediately  after  receiving  the  invitation, 
and  found  her,  after  the  lapse  of  three  months, 
as  pretty  as  ever,  and  clothed  in  less  heavy  mourn- 
ing. 

"It's  real  sweet  of  you  to  call,  Mr.  Denzil,"  said 
she  vivaciously.  "I  haven't  seen  anything  of  you 
since  we  met  in  Mr.  Link's  office.  And  sakes  !  have 
I  not  had  a  heap  of  trouble  since  then?" 

"Your  trouble  has  done  you  no  harm,  Mrs. 
Vrain.  So  far  as  your  looks  go,  three  minutes, 
rather  than  three  months,  might  have  passed." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  63 

"Oh,  that's  •all  right.  I  guess  it's  not  good  enough 
to  cry  one's  self  sick  for  what  can't  be  helped.  But 
I  want  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Denzil,  how  that  policeman 
is  progressing  with  the  case." 

"He  has  found  out  nothing,"  replied  Lucian, 
shaking  his  head,  "and,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  there's 
not  much  chance  of  learning  the  truth." 

"I  never  thought  there  was,"  said  Mrs.  Vrain, 
with  a  shrug.  "Seems  to  me  you  don't  get  round 
much  in  this  old  country.  Well,  it  don't  seem  as 
I  can  do  much  more.  I've  told  all  I  know,  and  I've 
offered  a  reward  of  £500  to  discover  the  man  who 
stuck  Mark.  If  he  ain't  found  for  dollars  he  won't 
be  found  at  all." 

"Probably  not,  Mrs.  Vrain.  It  is  now  over  three 
months  since  the  crime  was  committed,  and  every 
day  makes  the  chance  of  discovery  less." 

"But  for  all  that,  Diana  Vrain's  going  on  the 
trail,  Mr.  Denzil." 

"Diana  Vrain !    Who  is  she  ?" 

"My  stepdaughter — Mark's  only  child.  She  was 
in  Australia — out  in  the  wild  west  of  that  country 
— and  only  lately  got  the  news  of  her  father's 
death.  I  got  a  letter  from  her  last  week,  and  it 
seems  as  she's  coming  back  here  to  find  out  who  laid 
her  poppa  out." 

"I  am  afraid  she'll  not  succeed,"  said  Denzil  du- 
biously. 

"She'll  do  her  best  to,"  replied  Mrs.  Vrain,  with 
a  shrug.  "She's  as  obstinate  as  a  battery  mule; 
but  it's  no  use  talking,  she  will  have  her  own  way," 


64  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

and  dismissing  the  subject  of  Miss  Vrain,  the  pretty 
widow,  with  an  air  of  relief,  talked  on  more  frivo- 
lous subjects  until  Lucian  took  his  departure. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DIANA  VRAIN 

ALTHOUGH  over  three  months  had  elapsed  since 
the  murder  of  Mark  Vrain,  and  the  crime  had  been 
relegated  to  oblivion  both  by  press  and  people,  cu- 
riosity concerning  it  was  still  active  in  Geneva 
Square.  The  gossips  in  that  talkative  quarter  had 
exhausted  their  tongues  and  imaginations  in  sur- 
mising who  had  committed  the  deed,  and  how  it 
had  been  accomplished. 

It  was  now  known  that  the  deceased  had  been 
of  a  good  county  family,  who  had  left  his  pretty 
young  wife  in  a  fit  of  groundless  suspicion ;  that  he 
had  no  enemies ;  and  had  withdrawn  to  the  Silent 
House  to  save  himself  from  the  machinations  of 
purely  imaginary  beings.  The  general  opinion  was 
that  Vrain  had  been  insane;  but  even  this  did  not 
explain  the  reason  of  his  tragic  and  unforeseen 
death. 

Since  the  murder  the  Silent  House  had  acquired 
a  tenfold  interest  in  the  eyes  of  all.  The  crime, 
added  to  its  reputation  for  being  haunted,  invested 
it  with  horror ;  and  its  commonplace  looks  assumed 
to  fanciful  onlookers  a  grim  and  menacing  aspect, 

65 


66  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

in  keeping  with  its  blood-stained  floor  and  ghostly 
rooms. 

Disheartened  by  the  late  catastrophe,  which  had 
so  greatly  enhanced  the  already  evil  reputation  of 
the  house,  the  landlord  did  not  attempt  to  relet  it, 
as  he  knew  very  well  that  no  tenant  would  be  bold 
enough  to  take  it,  even  at  a  nominal  rent.  Mrs. 
Vrain  had  sold  off  the  furniture  of  the  two  apart- 
ments which  her  unfortunate  husband  had  inhab- 
ited, and  now  these  were  as  bare  and  lonely  as  the 
rest  of  the  rooms. 

The  landlord  made  no  effort  to  furbish  up  or 
renovate  the  mansion,  deeming  that  such  expense 
would  be  useless;  so  No.  13,  deserted  by  man,  and 
cursed  by  God,  remained  vacant  and  avoided.  Peo- 
ple came  from  far  and  near  to  look  at  it,  but  no 
one  entered  its  doors  lest  some  evil  fate  should  be- 
fall them.  Yet,  in  strange  contradiction  to  the  hor- 
ror it  created  in  every  breast,  the  houses  on  either 
side  continued  to  be  occupied. 

Miss  Greeb  frequently  took  a  peep  across  the 
way  at  the  empty  house,  with  its  curtainless,  dusty 
windows  and  smokeless  chimneys.  She  had  theo- 
rised often  on  the  murder  of  Vrain,  and  being  unable 
to  come  to  any  reasonable  conclusion,  finally  decided 
that  a  ghost — the  ghost  which  haunted  the  mansion 
— had  committed  the  crime.  In  support  of  this 
fantastic  opinion  she  related  to  Lucian  at  least  a 
score  of  stories  in  which  people  foolishly  sleeping 
in  haunted  rooms  had  been  found  dead  in  the  morn- 
ing. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  67 

"With  black  finger-marks  on  their  throats,"  said 
Miss  Greeb  dramatically,  "and  looks  of  horror  in 
their  eyes,  and  everything  locked  up,  just  like  it 
was  in  No.  13,  to  show  that  nothing  but  a  ghost 
could  have  killed  them." 

"You  forget,  Miss  Greeb,"  said  Lucian  flippant- 
ly, "poor  Vrain  was  stabbed  with  a  stiletto.  Ghosts 
don't  use  material  weapons." 

"How  do  you  know  the  dagger  was  a  real  one?" 
replied  Miss  Greeb,  sinking  her  voice  to  a  horrified 
whisper.  "Was  it  ever  seen?  No!  Was  it  ever 
found?  No!  The  ghost  took  it  away.  Depend 
upon  it,  Mr.  Denzil,  it  wasn't  flesh  and  blood  as 
made  a  spirit  of  that  crazy  Berwin." 

"In  that  case,  the  ghostly  criminal  can't  be 
hanged,"  said  Denzil,  with  a  laugh.  "But  it's  all 
nonsense,  Miss  Greeb.  I  am  astonished  that  a 
woman  of  your  sense  should  believe  in  such  rub- 
bish." 

"Wiser  people  than  I  have  faith  in  ghosts,"  re- 
torted the  landlady  obstinately.  "Haven't  you 
heard  of  the  haunted  house  in  a  West  End  square, 
where  a  man  and  a  dog  were  found  dead  in  the 
morning,  with  a  valet  as  gibbered  awful  ever  after- 
wards?" 

"Pooh !  Pooh !  That's  a  story  of  Bulwer  Lyt- 
ton's." 

"It  is  not,  Mr.  Denzil — it's  a  fact.  You  can 
see  the  very  house  in  the  square  for  yourself,  and 
No.  13  is  just  such  another." 

"Nonsense!    Why,  I'd  sleep  in  No.  13  to-mor- 


68  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

row  night,  just  to  prove  that  your  ghostly  fears  are 
all  moonshine." 

Miss  Greeb  uttered  a  screech  of  alarm.  "Mr. 
Denzil !"  she  cried,  with  great  energy,  "sooner  than 
you  should  do  that,  I'd — I'd — well,  I  don't  know 
what  I'd  do!" 

"Accuse  me  of  stealing  your  silver  spoons  and 
have  me  locked  up,"  said  Lucian,  laughing.  "Make 
yourself  easy,  Miss  Greeb.  I  have  no  intention  of 
tempting  Providence.  All  the  same,  I  don't  be- 
lieve for  one  minute  that  No.  13  is  haunted." 

"Lights  were  seen  flitting  from  room  to  room." 

"No  doubt.  Poor  Vrain  showed  me  over  the 
house  before  he  died.  His  candle  explains  the 
lights." 

"They  have  been  seen  since  his  death,"  said  Miss 
Greeb  solemnly. 

"Then,  as  a  ghost,  Vrain  must  be  walking  about 
with  the  old  woman  phantom  who  wears  brocade 
and  high-heeled  shoes." 

Miss  Greeb,  seeing  that  she  had  a  sceptic  to  deal 
with,  retreated  with  great  dignity  from  the  argu- 
ment, but  nevertheless  to  other  people  maintained 
her  opinion,  with  many  facts  drawn  from  her  im- 
agination and  from  books  on  the  supernatural  com- 
piled from  the  imagination — or,  as  the  various  writ- 
ers called  it — the  experience  of  others.  Some  agreed 
with  her,  others  laughed  at  her;  but  one  and  all 
acknowledged  that,  however  it  came  about,  whether 
by  ghostly  or  mortal  means,  the  murder  of  Vrain 
was  a  riddle  never  likely  to  be  solved;  and,  with 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  69 

other  events  bf  a  like  nature  and  mystery,  it  was 
relegated  to  the  list  of  undiscovered  crimes. 

After  several  interviews  with  Link,  the  barrister 
was  also  inclined  to  take  this  view  of  the  matter. 
He  found  the  detective  quite  discouraged  in  his 
efforts  to  find  the  assassin. 

"I  have  been  to  Bath,"  said  Link  dismally.  "I 
have  examined,  so  far  as  I  was  able,  into  the  past 
life  of  Vrain,  but  I  can  find  nothing  likely  to  throw 
light  on  the  subject.  He  did  not  get  on  well  with 
his  wife,  and  left  Bath  ten  months  before  the  mur- 
der. I  tried  to  trace  where  he  went  to,  but  could 
not.  He  vanished  from  Bath  quite  unexpectedly, 
and  four  months  later  turned  up  in  Geneva  Square, 
as  we  know,  but  who  killed  him,  or  why  he  was 
killed,  I  can't  say.  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  give  it 
up  as  a  bad  job,  Mr.  Denzil.*1 

"What!  and  lose  a  reward  of  five  hundred 
pounds !"  said  Lucian. 

"If  it  was  five  thousand,  I  must  lose  it,"  returned 
the  dejected  Link.  "This  case  beats  me.  I  don't 
believe  the  murderer  will  ever  be  run  down." 

"Upon  my  word,  I  am  inclined  to  agree  with 
you,"  said  Denzil,  and  barrister  and  detective  de- 
parted, each  convinced  that  the  Vrain  case  was 
ended,  and  that  in  the  face  of  the  Insuperable  ob- 
stacles presented  by  it  there  was  not  the  slightest 
chance  of  avenging  the  murder  of  the  unfortunate 
man.  The  reading  of  the  mystery  was  beyond  mor- 
tal powers  to  accomplish. 


70  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

About  the  middle  of  April,  nearly  four  months 
after  the  tragedy,  Lucian  received  a  letter  contain- 
ing an  invitation  which  caused  him  no  little  aston- 
ishment. The  note  was  signed  Diana  Vrain,  and, 
having  intimated  that  the  writer  had  returned  only 
that  week  from  Australia,  requested  that  Mr.  Den- 
zil  would  be  kind  enough  to  call  the  next  day  at  the 
Royal  John  Hotel  in  Kensington.  Miss  Vrain  end- 
ed by  stating  that  she  had  a  particular  desire  to 
converse  with  Mr.  Denzil,  and  hoped  that  he  would 
not  fail  to  keep  the  appointment. 

Wondering  greatly  how  the  lady — who  was  no 
doubt  the  stepdaughter  referred  to  by  Mrs.  Vrain 
— had  obtained  his  address,  and  why  she  desired 
to  see  him  so  particularly,  Lucian,  out  of  sheer  cu- 
riosity, obeyed  the  summons.  Next  day,  at  four 
o'clock — the  appointed  hour — he  presented  himself 
as  requested,  and,  on  giving  his  name,  was  shown 
immediately  into  the  presence  of  his  correspondent, 
who  occupied  a  small  private  sitting-room. 

When  Miss  Vrain  rose  to  greet  him,  Lucian  was 
amazed  to  see  how  beautiful  and  stately  she  was. 
With  dark  hair  and  eyes,  oval  face,  and  firm  mouth, 
majestic  figure  and  imperial  gait,  she  moved  to- 
wards him  an  apparent  queen.  A  greater  contrast 
to  Mrs.  Vrain  than  her  stepdaughter  can  scarcely 
be  imagined:  the  one  was  a  frivolous,  volatile  fairy, 
the  other  a  dignified  and  reserved  woman.  She 
also  was  arrayed  in  black  garments,  but  these  were 
made  in  the  plainest  manner,  and  showed  none  of 
the  coquetry  of  woe  such  as  had  characterised  Mrs. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  71 

Vrain's  elaborate  costume.  The  look  of  sorrow 
on  the  face  of  Diana  was  in  keeping  with  her 
mourning  apparel,  and  she  welcomed  Lucian  with 
a  subdued  courtesy  which  prepossessed  him  greatly 
in  her  favour. 

Quick  in  his  likes  and  dislikes,  the  young  man 
was  as  drawn  towards  this  beautiful,  sad  woman  as 
formerly  he  had  been  repulsed  by  the  feigned  grief 
and  ensnaring  glances  of  silly  Mrs.  Vrain. 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  calling,  Mr.  Den- 
zil,"  said  Miss  Vrain  in  a  deep  voice,  rather  mel- 
ancholy in  its  tone.  "No  doubt  you  wondered  how 
I  obtained  your  address." 

"It  did  strike  me  as  peculiar,  I  confess,"  said 
Lucian,  taking  a  chair  to  which  she  pointed,  "but 
on  considering  the  matter  I  fancied  that  Mrs.  Vrain 
had " 

"Mrs.  Vrain!"  echoed  Diana  in  a  tone  of  con- 
tempt. "No!  I  have  not  seen  Mrs.  Vrain  since 
I  returned,  a  week  ago,  to  London.  I  got  your 
address  from  the  detective  who  examined  into  the 
death  of  my  most  unhappy  father." 

"You  have  seen  Link?" 

"Yes,  and  I  know  all  that  Link  could  tell  me. 
He  mentioned  your  name  frequently  in  his  narra- 
tive, and  gave  me  to  understand  that  on  two  occa- 
sions you  had  spoken  with  my  father;  therefore, 
I  asked  him  to  give  me  your  address,  so  that  I  might 
speak  with  you  personally  on  the  matter." 

"I  am  quite  at  your  service,  Miss  Vrain.     I  sup- 


72  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

pose  you  wish  to  learn  all  that  I  know  of  the  trag- 
edy?" 

"I  wish  for  more  than  that,  Mr.  Denzil,"  said 
Diana  quietly.  "I  wish  you  to  help  me  in  hunting 
down  the  assassin  of  my  father." 

"What!    Do  you  intend  to  reopen  the  case?" 

"Certainly;  but  I  did  not  know  that  the  case — 
as  you  call  it — had  been  closed.  I  have  come  home 
from  Australia  especially  to  devote  myself  to  this 
matter.  I  should  have  been  in  London  long  ago, 
but  that  out  in  Australia  I  was  with  some  friends 
in  a  part  of  the  country  where  it  is  difficult  to  get 
letters.  As  soon  as  Mrs.  Vrain's  letter  about  the 
terrible  end  of  my  father  came  to  hand  I  arranged 
my  affairs  and  left  at  once  for  England.  Since  my 
arrival  I  have  seen  Mr.  Saker,  our  family  lawyer, 
and  Mr.  Link,  the  detective.  They  have  told  me 
all  they  know,  and  now  I  wish  to  hear  what  you 
have  to  say." 

"I  am  afraid  I  cannot  help  you,  Miss  Vrain," 
said  Lucian  dubiously. 

"Ah!    You  refuse  to  help  me?" 

"Oh,  no !  no !  I  shall  only  be  too  glad  to  do 
what  I  can,"  protested  Lucian,  shocked  that  she 
should  think  him  so  hard-hearted,  "but  I  know  of 
nothing  likely  to  solve  the  mystery.  Both  myself 
and  Link  have  done  our  best  to  discover  the  truth, 
but  without  success." 

"Well,  Mr.  Denzil,"  said  Diana,  after  a  pause, 
"they  often  say  that  a  woman's  wit  can  do  more 
than  a  man's  logic,  so  you  and  I  must  put  our  heads 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  73 

together  and  discover  the  guilty  person.    Have  you 
no  suspicion?" 

"No.     I    have    no    suspicion,"  replied   Lucian 
frankly.     "Have  you?" 

"I  have.    I  suspect — a  lady." 
"Mrs.  Vrain?" 

"Yes.     How  do  you  know  I  meant  her?" 
"Because  at  one  time  I  suspected  her  myself." 
"You  suspected  rightly,"  replied  Diana.     "I  be- 
lieve that  Mrs.  Vrain  killed  her  husband." 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  MARRIAGE  THAT  WAS  A  FAILURE 

DENZIL  did  not  reply  at  once  to  the  accusation 
levelled  by  Diana  at  Mrs.  Vrain,  as  he  was  too 
astonished  at  her  vehemence  to  find  his  voice  read- 
ily. When  he  did  speak,  it  was  to  argue  on  the 
side  of  the  pretty  widow. 

"I  think  you  must  be  mistaken,"  he  said  at 
length. 

"But,  Mr.  Denzil,  you  declared  that  you  sus- 
pected her  yourself!" 

"At  one  time,  but  not  now,"  replied  Lucian  de- 
cisively, "because  at  the  time  of  the  murder  Mrs. 
Vrain  was  keeping  Christmas  in  Berwin  Manor." 

"Like  Nero  fiddling  when  Rome  was  burning," 
retorted  Diana  sharply;  "but  you  mistake  my  mean- 
ing. I  do  not  say  that  Mrs.  Vrain  committed  the 
crime  personally,  but  she  inspired  and  guided  the 
assassin." 

"And  who  is  the  assassin,  in  your  opinion  ?" 

"Count  Hercule  Ferruci." 

"An  Italian?" 

"As  you  may  guess  from  the  name." 

"Now,  that  is  strange,"  cried  Lucian,  with  some 

74 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  75 

excitement,  "for,  from  the  nature  of  the  wound, 
I  believe  that  your  father  was  stabbed  by  an  Italian 
stiletto." 

"Aha!"  said  Diana,  with  satisfaction.  "That 
strengthens  the  accusation  I  bring  against  Ferruci." 

"And,  again,"  continued  Denzil,  hardly  listening 
to  what  she  was  saying,  "when  I  mentioned  my 
suspicion  about  the  stiletto  in  the  hearing  of  Mrs. 
Vrain,  she  fainted." 

"Which  showed  that  her  guilty  conscience 
pricked  her.  Oh,  I  am  sure  of  it,  Mr.  Denzil !  My 
stepmother  and  the  count  are  the  criminals !" 

"Our  evidence,  as  yet,  is  only  circumstantial," 
said  Lucian  cautiously.  "We  must  not  jump  to 
conclusions.  At  present  I  am  completely  in  the 
dark  regarding  this  foreigner." 

"I  can  enlighten  you,  but  it  is  a  long  story." 

"The  longer  the  better,"  said  Denzil,  thinking 
he  could  hear  Diana  speak  and  watch  her  face  for 
hours  without  weariness.  "I  wish  for  all  details, 
then  I  shall  be  in  a  better  position  to  judge." 

"What  you  say  is  only  reasonable,  Mr.  Denzil. 
I  shall  tell  you  my  father's  history  from  the  time 
he  went  to  Italy  some  three  years  ago.  It  was  in 
Italy — to  be  precise,  in  Florence — that  he  met  with 
Lydia  Clyne  and  her  father." 

"One  moment,"  said  Denzil.  "Before  you  be- 
gin, will  you  tell  me  what  you  think  of  the  couple  ?" 

"Think!"  cried  Diana  disdainfully.  "I  think 
they  are  a  couple  of  adventurers;  but  she  is  the 
worst  of  the  two.  The  old  man,  Jabez  Clyne,  I 


76  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

think  moderately  well  of;  he  is  a  weak  fool  under 
the  thumb  of  his  daughter.  If  you  only  knew  what 
I  have  suffered  at  the  hands  of  that  golden-haired 
doll!" 

"I  should  think  you  could  hold  your  own,  Miss 
Vrain." 

"Not  against  treachery  and  lies !"  retorted  Diana 
fiercely.  "It  is  not  my  habit  to  employ  such  weap- 
ons, but  my  stepmother  used  no  others.  It  was  she 
who  drove  me  out  of  the  house  and  made  me  exile 
myself  to  the  Antipodes  to  escape  her  falseness. 
And  it  was  she,"  added  Miss  Vrain  solemnly,  "who 
treated  my  father  so  ill  as  to  drive  him  out  of  his 
own  home.  Lydia  Vrain  is  not  the  doll  you  think 
her  to  be;  she  is  a  false,  cruel,  clever  adventuress, 
and  I  hate  her — I  hate  her  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul!" 

This  feminine  outburst  of  anger  rather  bewil- 
dered Denzil,  who  saw  very  plainly  that  Diana  was 
by  no  means  the  lofty  angel  he  had  taken  her  to 
be  in  the  first  appreciation  of  her  beauty.  But  her 
passion  of  the  moment  suited  so  well  with  her  state- 
ly looks  that  she  seemed  rather  a  Margaret  of 
Anjou  defying  York  and  his  faction  than  an  injured 
woman  concerned  with  so  slight  a  thing  as  the  re- 
buke of  one  of  her  own  sex  for  whom  she  had  little 
love.  Diana  saw  the  surprise  expressed  on  Lucian's 
face,  and  her  own  flushed  a  little  with  annoyance 
that  she  should  have  betrayed  her  feelings  so  open- 
ly. With  a  vexed  laugh,  she  recovered  her  temper 
and  composed  demeanour. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  77 

"You  see  I  "am  no  saint,  Mr.  Denzil,"  she  said, 
resuming  her  seat,  for  in  her  anger  she  had  risen 
to  her  feet.  "But  even  if  I  were  one,  I  could  not 
have  restrained  myself  from  speaking  as  I  did. 
When  you  know  my  stepmother  as  well  as  I  do — 
but  I  must  talk  calmly  about  her,  or  you  will  not 
understand  my  reasons  for  thinking  her  concerned 
in  the  terrible  fate  of  my  poor  father." 

"I  am  all  attention,  Miss  Vrain." 

"I'll  tell  you  all  I  know,  as  concisely  as  possible," 
she  replied,  "and  you  can  judge  for  yourself  if  I  am 
right  or  wrong.  Three  years  ago  my  father's  health 
was  very  bad.  Since  the  death  of  my  mother — 
now  some  ten  years — he  had  devoted  himself  to 
hard  study,  and  had  lived  more  or  less  the  life  of 
a  recluse  in  Berwin  Manor.  He  was  writing  a  his- 
tory of  the  Elizabethan  dramatists,  and  became  so 
engrossed  with  the  work  that  he  neglected  his 
health,  and  consequently  there  was  danger  that  he 
might  suffer  from  brain  fever.  The  doctors  or- 
dered him  to  leave  his  books  and  to  travel,  in  order 
that  his  attention  might  be  distracted  by  new  scenes 
and  new  people.  I  was  to  go  with  him,  to  see  that 
he  did  not  resume  his  studies,  so,  in  an  evil  hour  for 
us  both,  we  went  to  Italy." 

"Your  father  was  not  mad?"  said  Lucian,  think- 
ing of  the  extraordinary  behaviour  of  Vrain  in  the 
square. 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Diana  indignantly.  "He  was 
a  trifle  weak  in  the  head  from  overwork,  but  quite 
capable  of  looking  after  himself." 


78  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Did  he  indulge  in  strong  drink?" 

Miss  Vrain  looked  scandalised.  "My  father  was 
singularly  abstemious  in  eating  and  drinking,"  she 
said  stiffly.  "Why  do  you  ask  such  a  question  ?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  replied  Lucian,  with  all 
humility,  "but  it  was  reported  in  Geneva  Square 
that  Berwin — the  name  by  which  your  father  was 
known — drank  too  much;  and  when  I  met  him  he 
was  certainly  not — not  quite  himself,"  finished  the 
barrister  delicately. 

"No  doubt  his  troubles  drove  him  to  take  more 
than  was  good  for  him,"  said  Diana  in  a  low  voice. 
"Yet  I  wonder  at  it,  for  his  health  was  none  of  the 
best.  Sometimes,  I  admit,  he  took  sleeping  draughts 
and — and — drugs." 

"He  was  consumptive,"  said  Lucian,  noticing 
Diana's  hesitation  to  speak  plainly. 

"His  chest  was  weak,  and  consumption  may  have 
developed  itself,  but  when  I  left  England,  almost 
two  years  back,  he  was  certainly  not  suffering  from 
that  disease.  But  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  Diana, 
wringing  her  hands.  "During  my  short  absence, 
and  under  the  tyranny  of  his  wife,  his  physical 
health  and  moral  principles  gave  way.  Drink  and 
consumption !  Ah  !  God !  were  not  these  ills  enough 
but  what  the  woman  must  add  murder  to  cap  them 
both?" 

"We  do  not  know  yet  if  she  is  guilty,"  said  Lu- 
cian quietly.  "Will  you  go  on  with  your  story, 
Miss  Vrain?  Later  on  we  can  discuss  these  mat- 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  79 

ters,  when  I  am  in  possession  of  the  facts.  You 
say  it  was  an  evil  hour  when  you  went  to  Italy." 

"It  was  indeed,"  said  Diana  sorrowfully,  "for 
in  Florence,  at  the  Pension  Donizetti,  on  the  Lung 
Arno,  we  met  with  Lydia  Clyne  and  her  father. 
They  had  only  lately  arrived  in  Italy — from  New 
York,  I  suppose — but  already  she  was  said  to  be 
engaged  to  a  needy  Italian  nobleman  named  Her- 
cule  Ferruci." 

"Then  I  suppose  the  Clynes  were  rich,"  said 
Lucian,  "for  I  know  those  Italian  nobles  too  well 
to  suspect  that  this  Count  Ferruci  would  pay  atten- 
tion to  any  one  but  an  heiress." 

"She  was  supposed  to  be  rich,  Mr.  Denzil.  All 
Americans,  for  some  reason,  are  supposed  to  be 
millionaires;  but  after  she  married  my  father  I 
learned  that  Mr.  Clyne  had  a  very  moderate  for- 
tune indeed,  and  his  daughter  nothing.  It  was  for 
that  reason  that  Lydia  threw  over  the  count,  to 
whom  she  was  almost  engaged,  and  began  to  pay 
attention  to  my  father.  She  heard  talk  of  his  estates 
in  the  gossip  of  the  Pension,  and  believing  him  to 
be  rich,  she  decided  to  marry  him  instead  of  throw- 
ing herself  away  in  a  romantic  fit  on  Ferruci." 

"Did  she  love  this  Italian?" 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  she  did;  and,  what  is  more,  she 
loves  him  still!" 

"What !  Is  Count  Ferruci  still  acquainted  with 
Mrs.Vrain?" 

"He  is,  as  you  shall  hear.  Miss  Clyne,  as  I  said, 
determined  to  make  a  rich  marriage  by  becoming 


8o  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

the  second  Mrs.  Vrain.  I  never  liked  her,  know- 
ing that  she  was  false  and  frivolous ;  but  though  I 
did  my  best  to  stop  the  marriage,  my  father  would 
not  be  controlled.  You  know  that  this  woman  is 
pretty  and  fascinating." 

"She  is  certainly  the  first,  but  not  the  last,"  in- 
terposed Lucian. 

"At  all  events,"  resumed  Diana  disconsolately, 
"she  was  sufficiently  fascinating  to  snare  my  poor 
foolish  old  father.  We  remained  four  months  in 
Florence,  and  before  we  left  it  Lydia  Clyne  be- 
came Mrs.  Vrain.  I  could  do  nothing  with  my 
father,  as  he  was  possessed  of  the  headstrong  pas- 
sion of  an  old  man,  and,  moreover,  Lydia  had 
learned  to  know  his  weak  points  so  well  that  she 
could  twist  him  round  her  finger.  But,  angered  as 
I  was  at  my  father's  folly,  I  loved  him  too  well  to 
leave  him  at  the  time,  therefore  I  returned  to  Ber- 
win  Manor  with  the  pair. 

"There,  Mr.  Denzil,"  continued  Miss  Vrain,  her 
face  growing  dark,  "Lydia  made  my  life  so  wretch- 
ed, and  insulted  me  so  openly,  that  I  was  forced, 
out  of  self-respect,  to  leave  the  house.  I  had  some 
relatives  in  Australia,  to  whom  I  went  out  on  a 
visit.  Alas !  I  wish  I  had  not  done  so ;  yet  remain 
with  my  colonial  cousins  I  did,  until  recalled  to 
England  by  the  terrible  intelligence  of  my  father's 
untimely  end." 

"So  the  marriage  was  a  failure?" 

"Yes;  even  before  I  left,  Lydia  openly  neglected 
my  father.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  Mr.  Clyne,  who 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  81 

is  much  the  better  of  the  two,  tried  to  make  her 
conduct  herself  in  a  more  becoming  manner.  But 
she  defied  him  and  every  one  else.  After  my  de- 
parture I  received  letters  from  a  friend  of  mine, 
who  told  me  that  Lydia  had  invited  Count  Ferruci 
over  on  a  visit.  My  father,  finding  that  he  could 
do  nothing,  and  seeing  what  a  mistake  he  had  made, 
returned  to  his  books,  and  soon  became  ill  again. 
Instead  of  looking  after  him,  Lydia — as  I  heard — 
encouraged  him  to  study  hard,  hoping,  no  doubt, 
that  he  would  die,  and  that  she  would  be  free  to 
marry  Count  Ferruci.  Then  my  father  left  the 
house." 

"Why?  That  is  a  very  necessary  detail." 
Diana  thought  for  a  moment,  then  shook  her 
head  despondingly.  "That  I  cannot  explain,"  she 
said,  with  a  sigh,  "as  I  was  in  Australia  at  the  time. 
But  I  expect  that  his  brain  grew  weaker  with  study, 
and  perhaps  with  the  strong  drink  and  drugs  which 
this  woman  drove  him  to  take.  No  doubt  the  poor 
man  grew  jealous  of  Ferruci ;  and,  unable  to  assert 
himself,  seeing  how  ill  he  wras,  left  the  house  and 
retired  to  Geneva  Square  to  meet  his  death,  as  we 
know." 

"But  all  this  is  supposition,"  remonstrated  Lu- 
cian.  "We  really  do  not  know  why  Mr.  Vrain 
left  the  house." 

"What  does  Lydia  say?" 

"She  gives  no  feasible  explanation." 

"Nor  will  she,    Oh!"  cried  Diana,  "is  there  no 


82 

way  of  getting  at  the  truth  of  this  matter?    I  feel 
certain  that  Lydia  and  the  Count  are  guilty!" 

"You  have  no  proofs,"  said  Denzil,  shaking  his 
head. 

"No  proofs!  Why,  you  said  yourself  that  a 
stiletto " 

"That  is  a  supposition  on  my  part,"  interrupted 
Lucian  quickly.  "I  cannot  say  for  certain  that  the 
deed  was  committed  with  such  a  weapon.  Besides, 
if  it  was,  how  can  you  connect  the  Italian  with 
the  deed?" 
,  "Can  we  not  find  a  proof  ?" 

"I  fear  not." 

"But  if  we  search  the  house  ?" 

"There  is  little  use  in  doing  that,"  rejoined  Lu- 
cian. "However,  if  it  will  give  you  any  satisfac- 
tion, Miss  Vrain,  I  will  take  you  over  the  house 
to-morrow  morning." 

"Do!"  cried  Diana,  "and  we  may  find  proof  of 
Lydia's  guilt  in  a  way  she  little  dreams  of.  Good- 
bye, Mr.  Denzil — till  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  PARTI-COLOURED  RIBBON 

THE  beauty  and  high  spirit  of  Diana  made  so 
deep  an  impression  on  Lucian  that  he  determined 
to  aid  her  by  every  means  in  his  power  in  searching 
for  the  assassin  of  her  father.  As  yet  Denzil  had 
reached  the  age  of  twenty-five  without  having  been 
attracted  in  any  marked  degree  towards  woman- 
kind; or,  to  put  it  more  precisely,  he  had  not  yet 
been  in  love.  But  now  it  seemed  that  the  hour 
which  comes  to  all  of  Adam's  sons  had  come  to 
him;  for  on  leaving  Diana  he  thought  of  nothing 
else  but  her  lovely  face  and  charming  smile,  and, 
until  he  met  her  again,  her  image  was  never  absent 
from  his  mind. 

He  took  but  a  languid  interest  in  his  daily  busi- 
ness or  social  pursuits,  and,  wrapped  up  in  inwardly 
contemplating  the  beauties  of  Diana,  he  appeared 
to  move  amongst  his  fellow-men  like  one  in  a 
dream.  And  dreamer  he  was,  for  there  was  no  sub- 
stantial basis  for  his  passion. 

Many  people — particularly  those  without  imag- 
ination— scoff  at  the  idea  that  love  can  be  born  in  a 
moment,  but  such  is  often  the  case,  for  all  their 
ill-advised  jibes.  A  man  may  be  brought  into  con- 

83 


84  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

tact  with  the  loveliest  and  most  brilliant  of  women, 
yet  remain  heart-whole;  yet  unexpectedly  a  face — 
not  always  the  most  beautiful — will  fire  him  with 
sudden  fervour,  even  against  his  better  judgment. 
Love  is  not  an  affair  of  reason,  to  be  clipped  and 
measured  by  logic  and  calculation ;  but  a  devouring, 
destroying  passion,  impatient  of  restraint,  and  ut- 
terly regardless  of  common  sense.  It  is  born  of 
a  look,  of  a  smile,  of  a  sigh,  of  a  word;  it  springs 
up  and  fructifies  more  speedily  than  did  Jonah's 
gourd,  and  none  can  say  how  it  begins  or  how  it 
will  end.  It  is  the  ever  old,  ever  new  riddle  of 
creation,  and  the  more  narrowly  its  mystery  is 
looked  into  the  more  impossible  does  it  become 
of  solution.  The  lover  of  to-day,  with  centuries 
of  examples  at  his  back,  is  no  wiser  in  knowledge 
than  was  his  father  Adam. 

Although  Lucian  was  thus  stricken  mad  after 
the  irrational  methods  of  Cupid,  he  had  sufficient 
sense  not  to  examine  too  minutely  into  the  reasons 
for  this  sudden  passion.  He  was  in  love,  and  ad- 
mitting as  much  to  himself,  there  was  an  end  of  all 
argument.  The  long  lane  of  his  youthful  and  love- 
less life  had  turned  in  another  direction  at  the  sign- 
post of  a  woman's  face,  and  down  the  new  vista 
the  lover  saw  flowering  meadows,  silver  streams, 
bowers  of  roses,  and  all  the  landscape  of  Arcadia. 
He  was  a  piping  swain  and  Diana  a  complaisant 
shepherdess ;  but  they  had  not  yet  entered  into  the 
promised  Arcadia,  and  might  never  do  so  unless 
Diana  was  as  kindly  as  he  wished  her  to  be. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  85 

Lucian  was-  in  love  with  Diana,  but  as  yet  he 
could  not  flatter  himself  that  she  was  in  love  with 
him,  so  he  resolved  to  win  her  affection — if  it  was 
free  to  be  bestowed — by  doing  her  will,  and  her 
will  was  to  revenge  the  death  of  her  father.  This 
was  hardly  a  pleasant  task  to  Lucian  in  his  then 
peace-with-all-the-world  frame  of  mind ;  but  seeing 
no  other  way  to  gain  a  closer  intimacy  with  the 
lady  of  his  love,  he  took  the  bitter  with  the  sweet, 
and  set  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel. 

The  next  morning,  therefore,  Lucian  called  on 
the  landlord  of  No.  13  and  requested  the  keys  of 
the  house.  But  it  appeared  that  these  were  not  in 
the  landlord's  keeping  at  the  moment. 

"I  gave  them  to  Mrs.  Kebby,  the  charwoman," 
said  Mr.  Peacock,  a  retired  grocer,  who  owned- the 
greater  part  of  the  square.  "The  house  is  in  such 
a  state  that  I  thought  I'd  have  it  cleaned  up  a 
bit." 

"With  a  view  to  a  possible  tenant,  I  suppose?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Peacock,  with  a  rueful 
shake  of  his  bald  head,  "although  I'm  hoping 
against  hope.  But  what  with  the  murder  and  the 
ghost,  there  don't  seem  much  chance  of  letting  it. 
What  might  you  be  wanting  in  No.  13,  Mr. 
Denzil?" 

"I  wish  to  examine  every  room,  to  find,  if  pos- 
sible, a  clue  to  this  crime,"  explained  Lucian,  sup- 
pressing the  fact  that  he  was  to  have  a  companion. 

"You'll  find  nothing,  sir.  I've  looked  into  every 
room  myself.  However,  you'll  find  Mrs.  Kebby 


86  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

cleaning  up,  and  she'll  let  you  in  if  you  ring  the 
bell.  You  aren't  thinking  of  taking  the  house  your- 
self, I  suppose?"  added  Peacock  wishfully. 

"No,  thank  you.  My  nerves  are  in  good  order 
just  now;  I  don't  want  to  upset  them  by  inhabiting 
a  house  with  so  evil  a  reputation." 

"Ah!  that's  what  every  one  says,"  sighed  the 
grocer.  "I  wish  that  Berwin,  or  Vrain,  or  what- 
ever he  called  himself,  had  chosen  some  other  place 
to  be  killed  in." 

"I'm  afraid  people  who  meet  with  unexpected 
deaths  can't  arrange  these  little  matters  before- 
hand," said  Lucian  drily,  and  walked  away,  leaving 
the  unfortunate  landlord  still  lamenting  over  his 
unlucky  possession  of  a  haunted  and  blood-stained 
mansion. 

Before  going  to  No.  13,  Lucian  walked  down 
the  street  leading  into  Geneva  Square,  in  order  to 
meet  Diana,  who  was  due  at  eleven  o'clock.  Punc- 
tual as  the  barrister  was,  he  found  that  Miss  Vrain, 
in  her  impatience,  was  before  him;  for  he  arrived 
to  see  her  dismiss  her  cab  at  the  end  of  the  street, 
and  met  her  half  way  down. 

His  heart  gave  a  bound  as  he  saw  her  graceful 
figure,  and  he  felt  the  hot  blood  rise  to  his  cheeks 
as  he  advanced  to  meet  her. 

Diana,  quite  unconscious  of  having,  like  her 
namesake,  the  moon,  caused  this  springtide  of  the 
heart,  could  not  forbear  a  glance  of  surprise,  but 
greeted  her  coadjutor  without  embarrassment  and 
with  all  friendliness.  Her  thoughts  were  too  taken 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  87 

up  with  her  immediate  task  of  exploring  the  scene 
of  the  crime  to  waste  time  in  conjecturing  the  rea- 
son of  the  young  man's  blushes.  Yet  the  instinct 
of  her  sex  might  have  told  her  the  truth,  and  prob- 
ably it  would  have  but  that  it  was  blunted,  or  rather 
not  exercised,  by  reason  of  her  preoccupation. 

"Have  you  the  key,  Mr.  Denzil?"  said  she  ea- 
.  gerly. 

"No;  but  I  have  seen  the  landlord,  and  he  has 
given  us  permission  to  go  over  the  house.  A  char- 
woman who  is  cleaning  up  the  place  will  let  us 
in." 

"A  charwoman,"  repeated  Miss  Vrain,  stopping 
short,  "and  cleaning  up  the  house!  Is  it,  then, 
about  to  receive  a  new  tenant?" 

"Oh,  no;  but  the  landlord  wishes  it  to  be  aired 
and  swept;  to  keep  it  in  some  degree  of  order,  I 
presume." 

"What  is  the  name  of  this  woman?" 

"Mrs.  Kebby." 

"The  same  mentioned  in  the  newspaper  reports 
as  having  waited  on  my  unhappy  father?" 

"The  same,"  replied  Lucian,  with  some  hesita- 
tion; "but  I  would  advise  you,  Miss  Vrain,  not 
to  question  her  too  closely  about  your  father." 

"Why  not?  Ah!  I  see;  you  think  her  answers 
about  his  drinking  habits  will  give  me  pain.  No 
matter;  I  am  prepared  for  all  that.  I  don't  blame 
him  so  much  as  those  who  drove  him  to  intem- 
perance. Is  this  the  house?"  she  said,  looking  ear- 


88  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

nestly  at  the  neglected  building  before  which  they 
were  standing. 

"Yes,"  replied  Lucian,  ringing  the  bell,  "it  was 
in  this  house  that  your  father  came  to  his  untimely 
end.  And  here  is  Mrs.  Kebby." 

That  amiable  crone  had  opened  the  door  while 
the  young  man  was  speaking,  and  now  stood  eye- 
ing her  visitors  with  a  blear-eyed  look  of  dark  sus- 
picion. 

"What  is't  ye  want?"  she  demanded,  with  a 
raven-like  croak. 

"Mr.  Peacock  has  given  this  lady  and  myself 
permission  to  go  over  the  house,"  responded  Lu- 
cian, trying  to  pass. 

"And  how  do  I  know  if  he  did?"  grumbled  Mrs. 
Kebby,  blocking  the  way. 

"Because  I  tell  you  so." 

"And  because  I  am  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Vrain," 
said  Diana,  stepping  forward. 

"Lord  love  ye,  miss!  are  ye?"  croaked  Mrs. 
Kebby,  stepping  aside.  "And  ye've  come  to  look  at 
your  pa's  blood,  I'll  be  bound." 

Diana  turned  pale  and  shuddered,  but  controlling 
herself  by  an  effort  of  will,  she  swept  past  the  old 
woman  and  entered  the  sitting-room.  "Is  this  the 
place?"  she  asked  Lucian,  who  was  holding  the 
door  open. 

"That  it  is,  miss,"  cried  the  charwoman,  who  had 
hobbled  after  them,  "and  yonder  is  the  poor  gen- 
tleman's blood;  it  soaked  right  through  the  car- 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  89 

pet,"  added  Mrs.  Kebby,  with  ghoulish  relish. 
"Lor!  'ow  it  must  'ave  poured  out!" 

"Hold  your  tongue,  woman !"  said  Lucian  rough- 
ly, seeing  that  Diana  looked  as  though  about  to 
faint.  "Get  on  with  your  work!" 

"I'm  going;  it's  upstairs  I'm  sweeping,"  growled 
the  crone,  retreating.  "You'll  bring  me  to  you  if 
ye  give  a  holler.  I'll  show  ye  round  for  a  shil- 
ling." 

"You  shall  have  double  if  you  leave  us  alone," 
said  Lucian,  pointing  to  the  door. 

"Mrs.  Kebby's  blear  eyes  lighted  up,  and  she 
leered  amiably  at  the  couple. 

"I  dessay  it's  worth  two  shillings,"  she  said, 
chuckling  hoarsely.  "Oh,  I'm  not  so  old  but  what 
I  don't  know  two  turtle  doves.  He !  he !  To  kiss 
over  yer  father's  blood!  Lawks!  what  a  match 
'twill  be!  He!  he!" 

Still  laughing  hoarsely,  Mrs.  Kebby,  in  the  midst 
of  her  unholy  joy,  was  pushed  out  of  the  door  by 
Lucian,  who  immediately  afterwards  turned  to  see 
if  Diana  had  overheard  her  ill-chosen  and  ominous 
words.  But  Miss  Vrain,  with  a  hard,  white  face, 
was  leaning  against  the  wall,  and  gave  no  sign  of 
such  knowledge.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  dull- 
looking  red  stain  of  a  dark  hue,  irregular  in  shape, 
and  her  hands  the  while  were  pressed  closely  against 
her  bosom,  as  though  she  felt  a  cruel  pain  in  her 
heart.  With  bloodless  cheek  and  trembling  lip  the 
daughter  looked  upon  the  evidence  of  her  father's 


90-  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

death.  Lucian  was  alarmed  by  her  unnatural  pal- 
lor. 

"Miss  Vrain!"  he  exclaimed,  starting  forward, 
"you  are  ill !  Let  me  lead  you  out  of  this  house." 

"No !"  said  Diana,  waving  him  back.  "Not  till 
we  examine  every  inch  of  it;  don't  speak  to  me, 
please.  I  wish  to  use  my  eyes  rather  than  my 
tongue." 

Denzil,  both  as  a  lover  and  a  friend,  respected 
this  emotion  of  the  poor  young  lady,  so  natural  un- 
der the  circumstances;  and  in  silence  conducted  her 
from  room  to  room.  All  were  empty  and  still 
dusty,  for  Mrs.  Kebby's  broom  swept  sufficiently 
light,  and  the  footfalls  of  the  pair  echoed  hollowly 
in  the  vast  spaces. 

Diana  looked  into  every  corner,  examined  every 
fireplace,  attempted  every  window,  but  in  no  place 
could  she  find  any  extraneous  object  likely  to  afford 
a  clue  to  the  crime.  They  went  down  into  the 
basement  and  explored  the  kitchen,  the  servant's 
parlour,  the  scullery,  and  the  pantry,  but  with  the 
same  unsatisfactory  result.  The  kitchen  door,  which 
led  out  into  the  back  yard,  showed  signs  of  having 
been  lately  opened;  but  when  Diana  drew  Lucian's 
attention  to  this  fact,  as  the  murderer  having  pos- 
sibly entered  thereby,  he  assured  her  that  it  had 
only  lately  been  opened  by  the  detective,  Link,  when 
he  was  searching  for  clues. 

"I  saw  this  door,"  added  Lucian,  striking  it  with 
his  cane,  "a  week  before  your  father  was  killed. 
He  showed  it  to  me  himself,  to  prove  that  no  one 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  91 

could  have  entered  the  house  during  his  absence; 
and  I  was  satisfied  then,  from  the  rusty  condition 
of  the  bolts,  and  the  absence  of  the  key  in  the  lock, 
that  the  door  had  not  been  opened — at  all  events, 
during  his  tenancy." 

"Then  how  could  those  who  killed  him  have  en- 
tered?" 

"That  is  what  I  wish  to  learn,  Miss  Vrain.  But 
why  do  you  speak  in  the  plural?" 

"Because  I  believe  that  Lydia  and  Ferruci  killed 
my  father." 

"But  I  have  proved  to  you  that  Mrs.  Vrain  re- 
mained at  Bath." 

"I  know  it,"  replied  Diana  quickly,  "but  she  sent 
Ferruci  up  to  kill  my  father,  and  I  speak  in  the  plu- 
ral because  I  think — in  a  moral  sense — she  is  as 
guilty  as  the  Italian." 

"That  may  be,  Miss  Vrain,  but  as  yet  we  have 
not  proved  their  guilt." 

Diana  made  no  answer,  but,  followed  by  Lucian, 
ascended  to  the  upper  part  of  the  house,  where  they 
found  Mrs.  Kebby  sweeping  so  vigorously  that  she 
had  raised  a  kind  of  dust  storm.  As  soon  as  she 
saw  the  couple  she  hobbled  towards  them  to  cajole 
them,  if  possible,  into  giving  her  money. 

For  a  few  moments  Diana  looked  at  her  haught- 
ily, not  relishing  the  familiarity  of  the  old  dame, 
but  unexpectedly  she  stepped  forward  with  a  look 
of  excitement. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  ribbon?"  she  asked 


92  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Mrs  Kebby,  pointing  to  a  scrap  of  personal  adorn- 
ment on  the  neck  of  the  rusty  old  creature. 

"This?"  croaked  Mrs.  Kebby.  "I  picked  it  up 
in  the  kitchen  downstairs.  It's  a  pretty  red  and  yal- 
ler  thing,  but  of  no  value,  miss,  so  I  don't  s'pose 
you'll  take  it  orf  me." 

Paying  no  attention  to  this  whimpering,  Diana 
twitched  the  ribbon  out  of  the  old  woman's  hands 
and  examined  it.  It  was  a  broad  yellow  ribbon  of 
rich  silk,  spotted  with  red — very  noticeably  and  evi- 
dently of  foreign  manufacture. 

"It  is  the  same!"  cried  Diana,  greatly  excited. 
"Mr.  Denzil,  I  bought  this  ribbon  myself  in  Flor- 
ence!" 

"Well,"  said  Lucian,  wondering  at  her  excite- 
ment, "and  what  does  that  prove?" 

"This:  that  a  stiletto  which  my  father  bought  in 
Florence,  at  the  same  time,  has  been  used  to  kill 
him !  I  tied  this  ribbon  myself  round  the  handle  of 
the  stiletto !" 


CHAPTER  XI 

FURTHER  DISCOVERIES 

THE  silence  which  followed  Diana's  announce- 
ment regarding  the  ribbon  and  stiletto — for  Lucian 
kept  silence  out  of  sheer  astonishment — was  broken 
by  the  hoarse  voice  of  Mrs.  Kebby: 

"If  ye  want  the  ribbon,  miss,  I'll  not  say  no  to  a 
shilling.  With  what  your  good  gentleman  prom- 
ised, that  will  be  three  as  I'm  ready  to  take,"  and 
Mrs.  Kebby  held  out  a  dirty  claw  for  the  silver. 

"You'll  sell  it,  will  you !"  cried  out  Diana  indig- 
nantly, pouncing  down  on  the  harridan.  "How 
dare  you  keep  what  isn't  yours?  If  you  had  shown 
the  detective  this,"  shaking  the  ribbon  in  Mrs. 
Kebby's  face,  "he  might  have  caught  the  criminal !" 

"Pardon  me,"  interposed  Lucian,  finding  his 
voice,  "I  hardly  think  so,  Miss  Vrain;  for  no  one 
but  yourself  could  have  told  that  the  ribbon  adorned 
the  stiletto.  Where  did  you  see  the  weapon  last?" 

"In  the  library  at  Berwin  Manor.  I  hung  it  up 
on  the  wall  myself,  by  this  ribbon." 

"Are  you  sure  it  is  the  same  ribbon?" 

"I  am  certain,"  replied  Diana  emphatically.  "I 
cannot  be  mistaken ;  the  colour  and  pattern  are  both 

93 


94  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

peculiar.  Where  did  you  find  it?"  she  added,  turn- 
ing to  Mrs.  Kebby. 

"In  the  kitchen,  I  tell  ye,"  growled  the  old 
woman  sullenly.  "I  only  found  it  this  blessed  morn- 
ing. 'Twas  in  a  dark  corner,  near  the  door  as  leads 
down  to  the  woodshed.  How  was  I  to  know  'twas 
any  good?" 

"Did  you  find  anything  else?"  asked  Lucian 
mildly. 

"No,  I  didn't,  sir." 

"Not  a  stiletto?"  demanded  Diana,  putting  the 
ribbon  in  her  pocket. 

"I  don't  know  what's  a  stiletter,  miss;  but  I 
didn't  find  nothing;  and  I  ain't  a  thief,  though  some 
people  as  sets  themselves  above  others  by  taking 
ribbons  as  doesn't  belong  to  'em  mayn't  be  much 
good." 

"The  ribbon  is  not  yours,"  said  Diana  haughtily. 

"Yes  it  are !  Findings  is  keepings  with  me !"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Kebby. 

"Don't  anger  her,"  whispered  Denzil,  touching 
Miss  Vrain's  arm.  "We  may  find  her  useful." 

Diana  looked  from  him  to  the  old  woman,  and 
opened  her  purse,  at  the  sight  of  which  Mrs.  Keb- 
by's  sour  face  relaxed.  When  Miss  Vrain  gave  her 
half  a  sovereign  she  quite  beamed  with  joy.  "The 
blessing  of  heaven  on  you,  my  dear,"  she  said,  with 
a  curtsey.  "Gold !  good  gold !  Ah !  this  is  a  brave 
day's  work  for  me — thirteen  blessed  shillings  1" 

"Ten,  you  mean,  Mrs.  Kebby !" 

"Oh,  no,  sir,"  cried  Mrs.  Kebby  obsequiously, 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  95 

"the  lady  gave  me  ten,  bless  her  heart,  but  you've 
quite  forgot  your  three." 

"I  said  two." 

"Ah!  so  you  did,  sir.  I'm  a  poor  schollard  at 
'rithmetic." 

"You're  clever  enough  to  get  money  out  of  peo- 
ple," said  Diana,  who  was  disgusted  at  the  avarice 
of  the  hag.  "However,  for  the  present  you  must 
be  content  with  what  I  have  given  you.  If,  in 
cleaning  this  house,  you  find  any  other  article,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  you  shall  have  another  ten  shillings, 
on  consideration  that  you  take  it  at  once  to  Mr. 
Denzil." 

Mrs.  Kebby,  who  was  tying  up  the  piece  of  gold 
in  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief,  nodded  her  old 
head  with  much  complacency.  "I'll  do  it,  miss; 
that  is,  if  the  gentleman  will  pay  on  delivery.  I 
like  cash." 

"You  shall  have  cash,"  said  Lucian,  laughing; 
and  then,  as  Diana  intimated  her  intention  of  leav- 
ing the  house,  he  descended  the  stairs  in  her  com- 
pany. 

Miss  Vrain  kept  silence  until  they  were  outside 
in  the  sunshine,  when  she  cast  an  upward  glance  at 
the  warm  blue  sky,  dappled  with  light  clouds. 

"I  am  glad  to  be  out  of  that  house,"  she  said, 
with  a  shudder.  "There  is  something  in  its  dark 
and  freezing  atmosphere  which  chills  my  spirits." 

"It  is  said  to  be  haunted,  you  know,"  said  Lucian 
carelessly;  then,  after  a  pause,  he  spoke  on  the  sub- 
ject which  was  uppermost  in  his  mind.  "Now  that 


96  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

you  have  this  piece  of  evidence,  Miss  Vrain,  what 
do  you  intend  to  do?" 

"Make  sure  that  I  have  made  no  mistake,  Mr. 
Denzil.  I  shall  go  down  to  Berwin  Manor  this  af- 
ternoon. If  the  stiletto  is  still  hanging  on  the  li- 
brary wall  by  its  ribbon,  I  shall  admit  my  mistake; 
if  it  is  absent,  why  then  I  shall  return  to  town  and 
consult  with  you  as  to  what  is  best  to  be  done.  You 
know  I  rely  on  you." 

"I  shall  do  whatever  you  wish,  Miss  Vrain,"  said 
Lucian  fervently. 

"It  is  very  good  of  you,"  replied  the  lady  grate- 
fully, "for  I  have  no  right  to  take  up  your  time  in 
this  manner." 

"You  have  every  right — that  is,  I  mean — I 
mean,"  stammered  Denzil,  thinking  from  the  sur- 
prised look  of  Miss  Vrain  that  he  had  gone  too  far 
at  so  early  a  stage  of  their  acquaintance.  "I  mean 
that  as  a  briefless  barrister  I  have  ample  time  at 
my  command,  and  I  shall  only  be  too  happy  to  place 
it  and  myself  at  your  service.  And  moreover,"  he 
added  in  a  lighter  tone,  "I  have  some  selfish  inter- 
est in  the  matter,  also,  for  it  is  not  every  one  who 
finds  so  difficult  a  riddle  as  this  to  solve.  I  shall 
never  rest  easy  in  my  mind  until  I  unravel  the  whole 
of  this  tangled  skein." 

"How  good  you  are !"  cried  Diana,  impulsively 
extending  her  hand.  "It  is  as  impossible  for  me  to 
thank  you  sufficiently  now  for  your  kindness  as  it 
will  be  to  reward  you  hereafter,  should  we  suc- 
ceed." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  97 

"As  to  my  reward,"  said  Lucian,  retaining  her 
hand  longer  than  was  necessary,  "we  can  decide 
what  I  merit  when  your  father's  death  is  avenged." 

Diana  coloured  and  turned  away  her  eyes,  with- 
drawing her  hand  in  the  meantime  from  the  too 
warm  clasp  of  the  young  man.  A  sense  of  his  mean- 
ing was  suddenly  borne  in  upon  her  by  look  and 
clasp,  and  she  felt  a  maidenly  confusion  at  the  mo- 
mentary boldness  of  this  undeclared  lover.  How- 
ever, with  feminine  tact  she  laughed  off  the  hint, 
and  shortly  afterwards  took  her  leave,  promising  to 
communicate  as  speedily  as  possible  with  Lucian 
regarding  the  circumstances  of  her  visit  to  Bath. 

The  barrister  wished  to  escort  her  back  to  the 
Royal  John  Hotel  in  Kensington,  but  Miss  Vrain, 
guessing  his  feelings,  would  not  permit  this;  so 
Lucian,  hat  in  hand,  was  left  standing  in  Geneva 
Square,  while  his  divinity  drove  off  in  a  prosaic 
hansom.  With  her  went  the  glory  of  the  sunlight, 
the  sweetness  of  the  spring;  and  Denzil,  more  in 
love  than  ever,  sighed  hugely  as  he  walked  slowly 
back  to  his  lodgings. 

For  doleful  moods,  hard  work  and  other  interests 
are  the  sole  cure;  therefore,  that  same  afternoon 
Lucian  returnd  to  explore  the  Silent  House  on  his 
own  account.  It  had  struck  him  as  suggestive  that 
the  parti-coloured  ribbon  to  which  Diana  attached 
such  importance  should  have  been  found  in  so  out- 
of-the-way  a  corner  as  the  threshold  of  the  door 
which  conducted  to  what  Mrs.  Kebby,  with  char- 
acteristic misrepresentation,  called  the  woodshed. 


98  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

In  reality  the  place  in  question  was  a  cellar,  which 
extended  under  the  soil  of  the  back  yard,  and  was 
lighted  from  the  top  by  a  skylight  placed  on  a  level 
with  the  ground. 

On  being  admitted  again  by  Mrs.  Kebby,  and 
sending  that  ancient  female  to  her  Augean  task  of 
cleansing  the  house,  Lucian  descended  to  the  base- 
ment in  order  to  examine  kitchen  and  cellar  more 
particularly.  If,  as  Diana  stated,  the  ribbon  had 
been  knotted  loosely  about  the  hilt  of  the  stiletto, 
it  must  have  fallen  off  unnoticed  by  the  assassin 
when,  weapon  in  hand,  he  was  retreating  from  the 
scene  of  crime. 

"He  must  have  come  down  here  from  the  sit- 
ting-room," mused  Denzil,  as  he  stood  in  the  cool, 
damp  kitchen.  "And — as  the  ribbon  was  found 
by  Mrs.  Kebby  near  yonder  door — it  is  most  prob- 
able that  he  left  the  kitchen  by  that  passage  for 
the  cellar.  Now  it  remains  for  me  to  find  out  how 
he  made  his  exit  from  the  cellar;  and  also  I  must 
look  for  the  stiletto,  which  he  possibly  dropped  in 
his  flight,  as  he  did  the  ribbon." 

While  thus  soliloquising,  Denzil  lighted  a  candle 
which  he  had  taken  the  precaution  to  bring  with 
him  for  the  purpose  of  making  his  underground 
explorations.  Having  thus  provided  himself  with 
means  to  dispel  the  darkness,  he  stepped  into  the 
door  and  descended  the  stone  stairs  which  led  to 
the  cellars. 

At  the  foot  of  the  steps  he  found  himself  in  a 
passage  running  from  the  front  to  the  back  of  the 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  99 

house,  and  forthwith  turned  to  the  right  in  order 
to  reach  the  particular  cellar,  which  was  dug  out 
in  the  manner  of  a  cave  under  the  back  yard. 

This,  as  Lucian  ascertained  by  walking  round, 
was  faced  with  stone  and  had  bins  on  all  four  sides 
for  the  storage  of  wine.  Overhead  there  was  a 
glass  skylight,  of  which  the  glass  was  so  dusty 
and  dirty  that  only  a  few  rays  of  light  could  strug- 
gle into  the  murky  depths  below.  But  what  par- 
ticularly attracted  the  attention  of  Denzil  was  a 
short  wooden  ladder  lying  on  the  stone  pavement, 
and  which  probably  was  used  to  reach  the  wine  in 
the  upper  bins. 

"And  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  had  been 
used  for  another  purpose,"  murmured  Lucian, 
glancing  upward  at  the  square  aperture  of  the  sky- 
light. 

It  struck  him  as  possible  that  a  stranger  could 
enter  thereby  and  descend  by  the  ladder.  To  test 
the  truth  of  this  he  reared  the  ladder  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  cellar  so  that  its  top  rung  rested  against 
the  lower  edge  of  the  square  overhead.  Ascending 
carefully — for  the  ladder  was  by  no  means  stout — 
he  pushed  the  glass  frame  upward  and  found  that 
it  yielded  easily  to  a  moderate  amount  of  strength. 
Climbing  up,  step  after  step,  Lucian  arose  through 
the  aperture  like  a  genie  out  of  the  earth,  and  soon 
found  that  he  could  jump  easily  out  of  the  cellar 
into  the  yard. 

"Good!"  he  exclaimed,  much  gratified  by  this 
discovery.  "I  now  see  how  the  assassin  entered. 


ioo  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

No  wonder  the  kitchen  door  was  bolted  and  barred, 
and  that  no  one  was  seen  to  visit  Vrain  by  the  front 
door.  Any  one  who  knew  the  position  of  that  sky- 
light could  obtain  admission  easily,  at  any  hour, 
by  descending  the  ladder  and  passing  through  cel- 
lar and  kitchen  to  the  upper  part  of  the  house.  So 
much  is  clear,  but  I  must  next  discover  how  those 
who  entered  got  into  this  yard." 

And,  indeed,  there  seemed  no  outlet,  for  the 
yard  was  enclosed  on  three  sides  by  a  fence  of  pa- 
lings the  height  of  a  man,  and  rendered  impervious 
to  damp  by  a  coating  of  tar;  on  the  fourth  side  by 
the  house  itself.  Only  over  the  fence — which  was 
no  insuperable  obstacle — could  a  stranger  have 
gained  access  to  the  yard;  and  towards  the  fence 
opposite  to  the  house  Lucian  walked.  In  it  there 
was  no  gate,  or  opening  of  any  kind,  so  it  would 
appear  that  to  come  into  the  yard  a  stranger  would 
need  to  climb  over,  a  feat  easily  achieved  by  a 
moderately  active  man. 

As  Denzil  examined  this  frail  barrier  his  eye 
was  caught  by  a  fluttering  object  on  the  left — that 
is,  the  side  in  a  line  with  the  skylight.  This  he 
found  was  the  scrap  of  a  woman's  veil  of  thin  black 
gauze  spotted  with  velvet.  At  once  his  thoughts 
reverted  to  the  shadow  of  the  woman  on  the  blind, 
and  the  suspicions  of  Diana  Vrain. 

"Great  heavens!"  he  thought,  "can  that  doll 
of  a  Lydia  be  guilty,  after  all?" 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  VEIL  AND  ITS  OWNER 

As  MAY  be  surmised,  Lucian  was  considerably 
startled  by  the  discovery  of  this  important  evidence 
so  confirmative  of  Diana's  suspicions.  Yet  the 
knowledge  which  Link  had  gained  relative  to  Mrs. 
Vrain's  remaining  at  Berwin  Manor  to  keep  Christ- 
mas seemed  to  contradict  the  fact;  and  he  could 
by  no  means  reconcile  her  absence  with  the  pres- 
ence on  the  fence  of  the  fragment  of  gauze;  still 
less  with  the  supposition  that  she  must  have  climbed 
over  a  tolerably  difficult  obstacle  to  enter  the  yard, 
let  alone  the  necessity — by  no  means  easy  to  a 
woman — of  descending  into  the  disused  cellar  by 
means  of  a  shaky  and  fragile  ladder. 

"After  all,"  thought  Lucian,  when  he  was  seated 
that  same  evening  at  his  dinner,  "I  am  no  more 
certain  that  the  veil  is  the  property  of  Mrs.  Vrain 
than  I  am  that  she  was  the  woman  whose  shadow 
I  saw  on  the  blind.  Whosoever  it  was  that  gained 
entrance  by  passing  over  fence  and  through  cellar, 
must  have  come  across  the  yard  belonging  to  the 
house  facing  the  other  road.  Therefore,  the  per- 
son must  be  known  to  the  owner  of  that  house,  and 

101 


102  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

I  must  discover  who  the  owner  is.  Miss  Greeb 
will  know." 

Lucian  made  this  last  remark  with  the  greatest 
confidence,  as  he  was  satisfied,  from  a  long  acquaint- 
ance with  his  landlady,  that  there  was  very  little 
concerning  her  own  neighbourhood  of  which  she 
was  ignorant.  The  result  verified  his  belief,  for 
when  Miss  Greeb  came  in  to  clear  the  table — a 
duty  she  invariably  undertook  so  as  to  have  a  chance 
of  conversing  with  her  admired  lodger — she  was 
able  to  afford  him  the  fullest  information  on  the 
subject.  The  position  of  the  house  in  question;  the 
name  of  its  owner;  the  character  of  its  tenants;  she 
was  thoroughly  well  posted  up  in  every  item,  and 
willingly  imparted  her  knowledge  with  much  detail 
and  comment. 

"No.  9  Jersey  Street,"  said  she,  unhesitatingly; 
"that  is  the  number  of  the  house  at  the  back  of  the 
haunted  mansion,  Mr.  Denzil.  I  know  it  as  well 
as  I  know  my  ten  fingers." 

"To  whom  does  it  belong?"  asked  Lucian. 

"Mr.  Peacock;  he  owns  most  of  the  property 
round  about  here,  having  bought  up  the  land  when 
the  place  was  first  built  on.  He's  seventy  years  of 
age,  you  know,  Mr.  Denzil,"  continued  Miss  Greeb 
conversationally,  "and  rich ! — Lord !  I  don't  know 
how  rich  he  is !  Building  houses  cheap  and  letting 
them  dear;  he  has  made  more  out  of  that  than 
in  sanding  his  sugar  and  chicorying  his  coffee. 
He- 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  tenant?"  interrupted 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  103 

^ 

Lucian,  cutting  short  this  rapid  sketch  of  Peacock's 
life. 

"Mrs.  Bensusan,  one  of  the  largest  women  here- 
abouts." 

"I  don't  quite  understand." 

"Fat,  Mr.  Denzil.  She  turns  the  scale  at  eigh- 
teen stone,  and  has  pretty  well  broke  every  weigh- 
ing machine  in  the  place." 

"What  reputation  has  she,  Miss  Greeb?" 

"Oh,  pretty  good,"  said  the  little  woman,  shrug- 
ging her  shoulders,  "though  they  do  say  she  over- 
charges and  underfeeds  her  lodgers." 

"She  keeps  a  boarding-house,  then?" 

"Well,  she  lets  rooms,"  explained  Miss  Greeb  in 
a  very  definite  manner,  "and  those  who  live  in  them 
supply  their  own  food,  and  pay  for  service  and 
kitchen  fire." 

"Who  is  with  her  now?" 

"No  one,"  replied  the  landlady  promptly.  "She's 
had  her  bill  up  these  three  months.  Her  last  lodger 
left  about  Christmas." 

"What  is  his  name — or  her  name?" 

"Oh,  it  was  a  'he,'  "  said  Miss  Greeb,  smiling. 
"Mrs.  Bensusan  prefers  gentlemen,  who  are  out  of 
doors  all  day,  to  ladies  muddling  and  meddling  all 
day  about  the  house.  I  must  say  I  do,  too,  Mr. 
Denzil,"  ended  the  lady,  with  a  fascinating  glance. 

"What  is  his  name,  Miss  Greeb?"  repeated  Lu- 
cian, quite  impervious  to  the  hint. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Miss  Greeb,  discomfited  at 
the  result  of  her  failure.  "A  queer  name  that  had 


104  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

to  do  with  payments.  Bill  as  the  short  for  William. 
No,  it  wasn't  that,  although  it  does  suggest  an  ac- 
count. Quarterday?  No.  But  it  had  something 
to  do  with  quarter-days.  Rent!"  finished  Miss 
Greeb  triumphantly.  "Rent,  with  a  *W  before 
it." 

"W-r-e-n-t!"  spelled  Lucian. 

"Yes.  Wrent !  Mr.  Wrent.  A  strange  name, 
Mr.  Denzil — a  kind  of  charade,  as  I  may  say.  He 
was  with  Mrs.  Bensusan  six  months;  came  to  her 
house  about  the  time  Mr.  Berwin  hired  No.  13." 

"Very  strange !"  assented  Lucian,  to  stop  further 
comment.  "What  kind  of  a  man  was  this  Mr. 
Wrent?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  never  heard  much  about  him," 
replied  Miss  Greeb  regretfully.  "Mya  I  ask  why 
you  want  to  know  all  this,  Mr.  Denzil?" 

Lucian  hesitated,  as  he  rather  dreaded  the  chat- 
tering tongue  of  his  landlady,  and  did  not  wish  his 
connection  with  the  Vrain  case  to  become  public 
property  in  Geneva  Square.  Still,  Miss  Greeb  was 
a  valuable  ally,  if  only  for  her  wide  acquaintance 
with  the  neighbourhood,  its  inhabitants,  and  their 
doings.  Therefore,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  he 
resolved  to  secure  Miss  Greeb  as  a  coadjutor,  and 
risk  her  excessive  garrulity. 

"Can  you  keep  a  secret,  Miss  Greeb?"  he  asked, 
with  impressive  solemnity. 

Struck  by  his  serious  air,  and  at  once  on  fire  with 
curiosity  to  learn  jts  reason,  Miss  Greeb  loudly 
protested  that  she  should  sooner  die  than  breathe 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  105 

•v 

a  word  of  what  her  lodger  was  about  to  divulge. 
She  hinted,  with  many  a  mysterious  look  and  nod, 
that  secrets  endangering  the  domestic  happiness  of 
every  family  in  the  square  were  known  to  her,  and 
appealed  to  the  fact  that  such  families  still  lived 
in  harmony  as  a  proof  that  she  was  to  be  trusted. 

"Wild  horses  wouldn't  drag  out  of  me  what  I 
know !"  cried  Miss  Greeb  earnestly.  "You  can  con- 
fide in  me  as  you  would  in  a" — she  was  about  to 
say  mother,  but  recollecting  her  juvenile  looks,  sub- 
stituted the  word  "sister." 

"Very  good,"  said  Lucian,  explaining  just  as 
much  as  would  serve  his  purpose.  "Then  I  may 
tell  you,  Miss  Greeb,  that  I  suspect  the  assassin 
of  Mr.  Vrain  entered  through  Mrs.  Bensusan's 
house,  and  so  got  into  the  yard  of  No.  13." 

"Lord!"  cried  Miss  Greeb,  taken  by  surprise. 
"You  don't  say,  sir,  that  Mr.  Wrent  is  a  murdering 
villain,  steeped  in  gore?" 

"No !  no !"  replied  Lucian,  smiling  at  this  highly- 
coloured  description.  "Do  not  jump  to  conclusions, 
Miss  Greeb.  So  far  as  I  am  aware,  this  Mr.  Wrent 
you  speak  of  is  innocent.  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Ben- 
susan  and  her  house  well  ?" 

"I've  visited  both  several  times,  Mr.  Denzil." 

"Well,  then,  tell  me,"  continued  the  barrister, 
"is  the  house  built  with  a  full  frontage  like  those 
in  this  square?  I  mean,  to  gain  Mrs.  Bensusan's 
back  yard  is  it  necessarv  to  go  through  Mrs.  Ben- 
susan's house?" 

"No,"  replied  Miss  Greeb,  shutting  her  eyes  to 


io6  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

conjure  up  the  image  of  her  friend's  premises.  "You 
can  go  round  the  back  through  the  side  passage 
which  leads  in  from  Jersey  Road." 

"H'm !"  said  Lucian  in  a  dissatisfied  tone.  "That 
complicates  matters." 

"How  so,  sir?"  demanded  the  curious  landlady. 

"Never  mind  just  now,  Miss  Greeb.  Do  you 
think  you  could  draw  me  a  plan  of  this  passage  of 
Mrs.  Bensusan's  house,  and  of  No.  13,  with  the 
yards  between?" 

"I  never  could  sketch,"  said  Miss  Greeb  regret- 
fully, "and  I  am  no  artist,  Mr.  Denzil,  but  I  think 
I  can  do  what  you  want." 

"Here  is  a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  pencil.  Will 
you  sketch  me  the  houses  as  clearly  as  you  can?" 

With  much  reflection  and  nibbling  of  the  pencil, 
and  casting  of  her  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling  to  aid  her 
memory,  Miss  Greeb  in  ten  minutes  produced  the 
required  sketch. 

"There  you  are,  Mr.  Denzil,"  said  Miss  Greeb, 
placing  this  work  of  art  before  the  barrister,  "that's 
as  good  as  I  can  draw." 

"It  is  excellent,  Miss  Greeb,"  replied  Lucian, 
examining  the  plan.  "I  see  that  any  one  can  get 
into  Mrs.  Bensusan's  yard  through  the  side  pas- 
sage." 

"Oh,  yes;  but  I  don't  think  a  person  could  with- 
out being  seen  by  Mrs.  Bensusan  or  Rhoda." 

"Who  is  Rhoda?" 

"The  servant.     She's  as  sharp  as  a  needle,  but 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  107 

an  idle  slut,  'for  all  that,  Mr.  Denzil.  They  say 
she's  a  gypsy  of  some  kind." 

"Is  the  gate  of  this  passage  locked  at  night?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"Then  what  is  to  prevent  any  one  coming  in 
under  cover  of  darkness  and  climbing  the  fence? 
He  would  escape  then  being  seen  by  the  landlady 
and  her  servant." 

"I  daresay;  but  he'd  be  seen  climbing  over  the 
fence  from  the  back  windows  of  the  houses  on  each 
side  of  No.  13." 

"Not  if  he  chose  a  dark  night  for  the  climbing." 

"Well,  even  if  he  did,  how  could  he  get  into 
No.  13?"  argued  Miss  Greeb.  "You  know  I've 
read  the  report  of  the  case,  Mr.  Denzil,  and  it 
couldn't  be  found  out  (as  the  kitchen  door  was 
locked,  and  no  stranger  entered  the  square)  how  the 
murdering  assassin  got  in." 

"I  may  discover  even  that,"  replied  Lucian,  not 
choosing  to  tell  Miss  Greeb  that  he  had  already  dis- 
covered the  entrance.  "With  time  and  inquiry  and 
observation  we  can  do  much.  Thank  you,  Miss 
Greeb,"  he  continued,  slipping  the  drawing  of  the 
plan  into  his  breast  coat  pocket.  "I  am  much 
obliged  for  your  information.  Of  course  you'll  re- 
peat our  conversation  to  no  one?" 

"I  swear  to  breathe  no  word,"  said  Miss  Greeb 
dramatically,  and  left  the  room  greatly  pleased  with 
this  secret  understanding,  which  had  quite  the  air 
of  an  innocent  intrigue  such  as  was  detailed  in 
journals  designed  for  the  use  of  the  family  circle. 


io8  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

For  the  next  day  or  two  Lucian  mused  over  the 
information  he  had  obtained,  and  made  a  fresh 
drawing  of  the  plan  for  his  own  satisfaction;  but 
he  took  no  steps  on  this  new  evidence,  as  he  was 
anxious  to  submit  his  discoveries  to  Miss  Vrain 
before  doing  so.  At  the  present  time  Diana  was 
at  Bath,  taking  possession  of  her  ancestral  acres, 
and  consulting  the  family  lawyer  on  various  mat- 
ters connected  with  the  property. 

Once  she  wrote  to  Lucian,  advising  him  that  she 
had  heard  several  pieces  of  news  likely  to  be  useful 
in  clearing  up  the  mystery;  but  these  she  refused 
to  communicate  save  at  a  personal  interview.  Den- 
zil  was  thus  kept  in  suspense,  and  unable  to  rest 
until  he  knew  precisely  the  value  of  Miss  Vrain's 
newly  acquired  information ;  therefore  it  was  with 
a  feeling  of  relief  that  he  received  a  note  from  her 
asking  him  to  call  at  three  o'clock  on  Sunday  at 
the  Royal  John  Hotel. 

Since  her  going  and  coming  a  week  had  elapsed. 

Now  that  his  divinity  had  returned,  and  he  was 
about  to  see  her  again,  the  sun  shone  once  more 
in  the  heavens  for  Lucian,  and  he  arrayed  himself 
for  his  visit  with  the  utmost  care.  His  heart  beat 
violently  and  his  colour  rose  as  he  was  ushered  into 
the  little  sitting-room,  and  he  thought  less  of  the 
case  at  the  moment  than  of  the  joy  in  seeing  Miss 
Vrain  once  more,  in  hearing  her  speak,  and  watch- 
ing her  lovely  face. 

On  her  part,  Diana,  recollecting  their  last  meet- 
ing, or  more  particularly  their  parting,  blushed  in 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  109 

her  turn,  and  £ave  her  hand  to  the  barrister  with 
a  new-born  timidity.  She  also  was  inclined  to  like 
Lucian  more  than  was  reasonable  for  the  peace  of 
her  heart;  so  these  two  people,  each  drawn  to  the 
other,  should  have  come  together  as  lovers  even  at 
this  second  meeting. 

But,  alas!  for  the  prosaicness  of  this  workaday 
world,  they  had  to  assume  the  attitudes  of  lawyer 
and  client;  and  discourse  of  crime  instead  of  love. 
The  situation  was  a  trifle  ironical,  and  must  have 
provoked  the  laughter  of  the  gods. 

"Well?"  asked  Miss  Vrain,  getting  to  business 
as  soon  as  Lucian  was  seated,  "and  what  have  you 
found  out?" 

"A  great  deal  likely  to  be  of  service  to  us.  And 
you?" 

"I !"  replied  Miss  Vrain  in  a  satisfied  tone.  "I 
have  discovered  that  the  stiletto  with  the  ribbon  is 
gone  from  the  library." 

"Who  took  it  away?" 

"No  one  knows.  I  can't  find  out,  although  I 
asked  all  the  servants;  but  it  has  been  missing  from 
its  place  for  some  months." 

"Do  you  think  Mrs.  Vrain  took  it?" 

"I  can't  say,"  replied  Diana,  "but  I  have  made 
one  discovery  about  Mrs.  Vrain  which  implicates 
her  still  more  in  the  crime.  She  was  not  in  Berwin 
Manor  on  Christmas  Eve,  but  in  town." 

"Really!"  said  Lucian,  much  amazed.  "But 
Link  was  told  that  she  spent  Christmas  in  the 
Manor  at  Bath." 


no  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"So  she  did.  Link  asked  generally,  and  was  an- 
swered generally.  Mrs.  Vrain  went  up  to  town  on 
Christmas  Eve  and  returned  on  Christmas  Day; 
but,"  said  Diana,  with  emphasis,  "she  spent  the 
night  in  town,  and  on  that  night  the  murder  was 
committed." 

Lucian  produced  his  pocketbook  and  took  there- 
from the  fragment  of  gauze,  which  he  handed  to 
Diana. 

"I  found  this  on  the  fence  at  the  back  of  No. 
13,"  he  said.  "It  is  a  veil — a  portion  of  a  velvet- 
spotted  veil." 

"A  velvet-spotted  veil!"  cried  Diana,  looking 
at  it.  "Then  it  belongs  to  Lydia  Vrain.  She  usu- 
ally wears  velvet-spotted  veils.  Mr.  Denzil,  the 
evidence  is  complete — that  woman  is  guilty!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

GOSSIP 

GOING  by  circumstantial  evidence,  Diana  cer- 
tainly had  good  grounds  to  accuse  Mrs.  Vrain  of 
committing  the  crime,  for  there  were  four  points 
at  least  which  could  be  proved  past  all  doubt  as 
incriminating  her  strongly  in  the  matter. 

In  the  first  place,  the  female  shadow  on  the  blind 
seen  by  Lucian,  showed  that  a  woman  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  entering  the  house  by  the  secret  way 
of  the  cellar,  and  during  the  absence  of  Vrain. 

Secondly,  the  finding  of  the  parti-coloured  rib- 
bon in  the  Silent  House,  which  had  been  knotted 
round  the  handle  of  the  stiletto  by  Diana,  and  the 
absence  of  the  stiletto  itself  from  its  usual  place 
on  the  wall  of  the  Berwin  Manor  library,  proved 
that  the  weapon  had  been  removed  therefrom  to 
London,  and,  presumably,  used  to  commit  the  deed, 
seeing  that  otherwise  there  was  no  necessity  for  its 
presence  in  the  Geneva  Square  mansion. 

Thirdly,  Diana  had  discovered  that  Lydia  had 
spent  the  night  of  the  murder  in  town ;  and,  lastly, 
she  also  declared  that  the  fragment  of  gauze  found 
by  Lucian  on  the  dividing  fence  was  the  property 
of  Mrs.  Vrain. 

HI 


ii2  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

This  quartette  of  charges  was  recapitulated  by 
Diana  in  support  of  her  accusation  of  her  step- 
mother. 

"I  always  suspected  Lydia  as  indirectly  guilty," 
she  declared  in  concluding  her  speech  for  the  prose- 
cution, "but  I  was  not  certain  until  now  that  she 
had  actually  struck  the  blow  herself." 

"But  did  she?"  said  Denzil,  by  no  means  con- 
vinced. 

"I  do  not  know  what  further  evidence  you  re- 
quire to  prove  it,"  retorted  Diana  indignantly.  "She 
was  in  town  on  Christmas  Eve;  she  took  the  sti- 
letto from  the  library,  and " 

"You  can't  prove  that,"  interrupted  Lucian  de- 
cidedly. Then,  seeing  the  look  of  anger  on  Diana's 
face,  he  hastened  to  apologise.  "Excuse  me,  Miss 
Vrain,"  he  said  nervously.  "I  am  not  the  less  your 
friend  because  I  combat  your  arguments;  but  in 
this  case  it  is  necessary  to  look  on  both  sides  of  the 
question.  Is  it  possible  to  prove  that  Mrs.  Vrain 
removed  this  dagger?" 

"Nobody  actually  saw  it  in  her  possession,"  re- 
plied Diana,  who  was  more  amenable  to  reason  than 
the  majority  of  her  sex,  "but  I  can  prove  that  the 
stiletto,  with  its  ribbon,  remained  in  the  library  af- 
ter the  departure  of  my  father.  If  Lydia  did  not 
take  it,  who  else  had  occasion  to  bring  it  up  to 
London?" 

"Let  us  say  Count  Ferruci,"  suggested  Denzil. 

Diana  pointed  to  the  fragment  of  the  veil  lying 
on  the  table.  "On  the  evidence  of  that  piece  of 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  113 

gauze,"  she  said,  "it  was  Lydia  who  entered  the 
house.  Again,  you  saw  her  shadow  on  the  window 
blind." 

"I  saw  two  shadows,"  corrected  Lucian  hastily, 
"those  of  a  man  and  a  woman." 

"In  plain  English,  Mr.  Denzil,  those  of  Mrs. 
Vrain  and  Count  Ferruci." 

"We  cannot  be  certain  of  that." 

"But  circumstantial  evidence " 

"Is  not  always  conclusive,  Miss  Vrain." 

"Upon  my  word,  sir,  you  seem  inclined  to  de- 
fend this  woman !" 

"Miss  Vrain,"  said  Lucian  seriously,  "if  we  don't 
give  her  the  benefit  of  every  doubt  the  jury  will, 
should  she  be  tried  on  this  charge.  I  admit  that 
the  evidence  against  this  woman  is  strong,  but  it 
is  not  certain;  and  I  argue  the  case  looking  at  it 
from  her  point  of  view — the  only  view  which  is 
likely  to  be  taken  by  her  counsel.  If  Mrs.  Vrain 
killed  her  husband  she  must  have  had  a  strong  mo- 
tive to  do  so." 

"Well,"  said  Diana  impatiently,  "there  is  the 
assurance  money." 

"I  don't  know  if  that  motive  is  quite  strong 
enough  to  justify  this  woman  in  risking  her  neck," 
responded  the  barrister.  "As  Mrs.  Vrain  of  Ber- 
win  Manor  she  had  an  ample  income,  for  your 
father  seems  to  have  left  all  the  rents  to  her,  and 
spent  but  little  on  himself;  also  she  had  an  assured 
position,  and,  on  the  whole,  a  happy  life.  Why 


ii4  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

should  she  risk  losing  these  advantages  to  gain 
more  money?" 

"She  wanted  to  marry  Ferruci,"  said  Diana, 
driven  to  another  point  of  defence.  "She  was  al- 
most engaged  to  him  before  she  married  my  foolish 
father;  she  invited  him  to  Berwin  Manor  against 
the  wish  of  her  husband,  and  showed  plainly  that 
she  loved  him  sufficiently  to  commit  a  crime  for  his 
sake.  With  my  father  dead,  and  she  in  possession 
of  £20,000,  she  could  hope  to  marry  this  Italian." 

"Can  you  prove  that  she  was  so  reckless?" 

"Yes,  I  can,"  replied  Miss  Vrain  defiantly.  "The 
same  person  who  told  me  that  Lydia  was  not  at 
Berwin  Manor  on  Ch'ristmas  Eve  can  tell  you  that 
her  behaviour  with  Count  Ferruci  was  the  talk  of 
Bath." 

"Who  is  this  person?"  asked  Lucian,  looking 
up. 

"A  friend  of  mine — Miss  Tyler.  I  brought  her 
up  with  me,  so  that  you  should  get  her  information 
at  first  hand.  You  can  see  her  at  once,"  and  Diana 
rose  to  ring  the  bell. 

"One  moment,"  interposed  Lucian,  before  she 
could  touch  the  button.  "Tell  me  if  Miss  Tyler 
knows  your  reason  for  bringing  her  up." 

"I  have  not  told  her  directly,"  said  Diana,  with 
some  bluntness,  "but  as  she  is  no  fool,  I  fancy  she 
suspects.  Why  do  you  ask  ?"  > 

"Because  I  have  something  to  tell  you  which  I 
do  not  wish  your  friend  to  hear,  unless,"  added 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  115 

Lucian  significantly,  "you  desire  to  take  her  into 
our  confidence." 

"No,"  said  Diana  promptly.  "I  do  not  think  it 
is  wise  to  take  her  into  our  confidence.  She  is  rather 
— well,  to  put  it  plainly,  Mr.  Denzil — rather  a 
gossip." 

"H'm !  As  such,  do  you  consider  her  evidence 
reliable?" 

"We  can  pick  the  grains  of  wheat  out  of  the 
chaff.  No  doubt  she  exaggerates  and  garbles,  after 
the  fashion  of  a  scandal-loving  woman,  but  her  evi- 
dence is  valuable,  especially  as  showing  that  Lydia 
was  not  at  Bath  on  Christmas  Eve.  We  will  tell 
her  nothing,  so  she  can  suspect  as  much  as  she  likes ; 
if  we  do  speak  freely  she  will  spread  the  gossip,  and 
if  we  don't,  she  will  invent  worse  facts;  so  in  either 
case  it  doesn't  matter.  What  is  it  you  have  to  tell 
me?" 

Lucian  could  scarcely  forbear  smiling  at  Diana's 
candidly  expressed  estimate  of  her  ally's  character, 
but,  fearful  of  giving  offence  to  his  companion,  he 
speedily  composed  his  features.  With  much  ex- 
planation and  an  exhibition  of  Miss  Greeb's  plan, 
he  gave  an  account  of  his  discoveries,  beginning 
with  his  visit  to  the  cellar,  and  ending  with  the  im- 
portant conversation  with  his  landlady.  Diana  lis- 
tened attentively,  and  when  he  concluded  gave  it  as 
her  opinion  that  Lydia  had  entered  the  first  yard 
by  the  side  passage  and  had  climbed  over  the  fence 
into  the  second,  "as  is  clearly  proved  by  the  veil," 
she  concluded  decisively. 


n6  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"But  why  should  she  take  all  that  trouble,  and 
run  the  risk  of  being  seen,  when  it  is  plain  that  your 
father  expected  her?" 

"Expected  her!"  cried  Diana,  thunderstruck. 
"Impossible!" 

"I  don't  know  so  much  about  that,"  replied  Lu- 
cian  drily,  "although  I  admit  that  on  the  face  of  it 
my  assertion  appears  improbable.  But  when  I  met 
your  father  the  second  time,  he  was  so  anxious  to 
prove,  by  letting  me  examine  the  house,  that  no 
one  had  entered  it  during  his  absence,  that  I  am 
certain  he  was  well  aware  the  shadows  I  saw  were 
those  of  people  he  knew  were  in  the  room.  Now,  if 
the  woman  was  Mrs.  Vrain,  she  must  have  been  in 
tKe  habit  of  visiting  your  father  by  the  back  way." 

"And  Ferruci  also?" 

"I  am  not  sure  if  the  male  shadow  was  Ferruci, 
no  more  than  I  am  certain  the  other  was  Mrs. 
Vrain." 

"But  the  veil?" 

Lucian  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  despair.  "That 
seems  to  prove  it  was  she,"  he  said  dubiously,  "but 
I  can't  explain  your  father's  conduct  in  receiving 
her  in  so  secretive  a  way.  The  whole  thing  is  be- 
yond me." 

"Well,  what  is  to  be  done?"  said  Diana,  after 
a  pause,  during  which  they  looked  blankly  at  one 
another. 

"I  must  think.  My  head  is  too  confused  just 
now  with  this  conflicting  evidence  to  plan  any  line 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  117 

of  action.  As  a  relief,  let  us  examine  your  friend 
and  hear  what  she  has  to  say." 

Diana  assented,  and  touched  the  bell.  Shortly, 
Miss  Tyler  appeared,  ushered  in  by  a  nervous  wait- 
er, to  whom  it  would  seem  she  had  addressed  a 
sharp  admonition  on  his  want  of  deference.  Im- 
mediately on  entering  she  pounced  down  on  Miss 
Vrain  like  a  hawk  on  a  dove,  pecked  her  on  both 
cheeks,  addressed  her  as  "my  dearest  Di,"  and 
finally  permitted  herself,  with  downcast  eyes  and 
a  modest  demeanour,  to  be  introduced  to  Lucian. 

It  might  be  inferred  from  the  foregoing  descrip- 
tion that  Miss  Tyler  was  a  young  and  ardent  dam- 
sel in  her  teens ;  whereas  she  was  considerably  near- 
er forty  than  thirty,  and  possessed  an  uncomely  as- 
pect impleasing  to  male  eyes.  Her  own  were  of 
a  cold  grey,  her  lips  were  thin,  her  waist  pinched 
in,  and — as  the  natural  consequence  of  tight  lacing 
— her  nose  was  red.  Her  scanty  hair  was  drawn 
off  her  high  forehead  very  tightly,  and  screwed  into 
a  cast-iron  knob  at  the  nape  of  her  long  neck;  and 
she  smiled  occasionally  in  an  acid  manner,  with 
many  teeth.  She  wore  a  plainly-made  green  dress, 
with  a  toby  frill ;  and  a  large  silver  cross  dangled  on 
her  flat  bosom.  Altogether,  she  was  about  as  ven- 
omous a  specimen  of  an  unappropriated  blessing  as 
can  well  be  imagined. 

"Bella,"  said  Miss  Vrain  to  this  unattractive  fe- 
male, "for  certain  reasons,  which  I  may  tell  you 
hereafter,  Mr.  Denzil  wishes  to  know  if  Mrs. 
Vrain  was  at  Berwin  Manor  on  Christmas  Eve." 


n8  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Of  course  she  was  not,  dearest  Di,"  said  Bella, 
drooping  her  elderly  head  on  one  scraggy  shoulder, 
with  an  acid  smile.  "Didn't  I  tell  you  so?  I  was 
asked  by  Lydia — alas !  I  wish  I  could  say  my  dear- 
est Lydia — to  spend  Christmas  at  Berwin  Manor. 
She  invited  me  for  my  singing  and  playing,  you 
know:  and  as  we  all  have  to  make  ourselves  agree- 
able, I  came  to  see  her.  On  the  day  before  Christ- 
mas she  received  a  letter  by  the  early  post  which 
seemed  to  upset  her  a  great  deal,  and  told  me  she 
would  have  to  run  up  to  town  on  business.  She  did, 
and  stayed  all  night,  and  came  down  next  morning 
to  keep  Christmas.  I  thought  it  very  strange." 

"What  was  her  business  in  town,  Miss  Tyler?" 
asked  Lucian. 

"Oh,  she  didn't  tell  me"  said  Bella,  tossing  her 
head,  "at  least  not  directly,  but  I  gathered  from 
what  she  said  that  something  was  wrong  with  poor 
dear  Mr.  Clyne — her  father,  you  know,  dearest 
Di." 

"Was  the  letter  from  him?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  say  that,  Mr.  Denzil,  as  I  don't 
know,  and  I  never  speak  by  hearsay.  So  much  mis- 
chief is  done  in  the  world  by  people  repeating  idle 
tales  of  which  they  are  not  sure." 

"Was  Count  Ferruci  at  Berwin  Manor  at  the 
time?" 

"Oh,  dear  me,  no,  Di !  I  told  you  that  he  was 
up  in  London  the  whole  of  Christmas  week.  I  only 
hope,"  added  Miss  Tyler,  with  a  venomous  smile, 
"that  Lydia  did  not  go  up  to  meet  him." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  119 

"Why  should  she?"  demanded  Lucian  bluntly. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  blind !"  cried  Bella,  shrilly  laugh- 
ing. "No,  indeed.  The  Count — a  most  amiable 
man — was  very  attentive  to  me  at  one  time;  and 
Lydia — a  married  woman — I  regret  to  say,  did 
not  like  him  being  so.  I  am  indeed  sorry  to  repeat 
scandal,  Mr.  Denzil,  but  the  way  in  which  Mrs. 
Vrain  behaved  towards  me  and  carried  on  with  the 
Count  was  not  creditable.  I  am  a  gentlewoman, 
Mr.  Denzil,  and  a  churchwoman,  and  as  such  can- 
not countenance  such  conduct  as  his." 

"You  infer,  then,  that  Mrs.  Vrain  was  in  love 
with  the  Italian?" 

"I  shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  to  hear  it,"  cried 
Bella  again.  "But  he  did  not  care  for  her!  Oh, 
dear,  no !  It  is  my  belief,  Mr.  Denzil,  that  Mrs. 
Vrain  knows  more  about  the  death  of  her  husband 
than  she  chooses  to  admit.  Oh,  I've  read  all  the 
papers ;  I  know  all  about  the  death." 

"Miss  Tyler!"  said  Lucian,  alarmed. 

"Bella !"  cried  Miss  Vrain.    "I " 

"Oh,  I'm  not  blind,  dearest,"  interrupted  Bella, 
speaking  very  fast.  "I  know  you  ask  me  these 
questions  to  find  out  if  Lydia  killed  her  husband. 
Well,  she  did!" 

"How  do  you  know,  Miss  Tyler?" 

"Because  I'm  sure  of  it,  Mr.  Denzil.  Wasn't 
Mr.  Vrain  stabbed  with  a  dagger?  Very  well,  then. 
There  was  a  dagger  hanging  in  the  library  of  the 
Manor,  and  I  saw  it  there  four  days  before  Christ- 


120  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

mas.  When  I  looked  for  it  on  Christmas  Day  it 
was  gone." 

"Gone!    Who  took  it?" 

"Mrs.  Vrain!" 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes,  I  am!"  snapped  Miss  Tyler.  "I  didn't 
see  her  take  it,  but  it  was  there  before  she  went,  and 
it  wasn't  there  on  Christmas  Day.  If  Lydia  did 
not  take  it,  who  did?" 

"Count  Ferruci,  perhaps." 

"He  wasn't  there!  No!"  cried  Bella,  raising 
her  head,  "I'm  sure  Mrs.  Vrain  stole  it  and  killed 
her  husband,  and  I  don't  care  who  hears  me  say 
so!" 

Diana  and  Lucian  looked  at  one  another  in  si- 
lence. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  HOUSE  IN  JERSEY  STREET 

As  HER  listeners  made  no  comment  on  Miss 
Tyler's  accusation  of  Mrs.  Vrain,  she  paused  only 
for  a  moment  to  recover  her  breath,  and  was  off 
again  in  full  cry  with  a  budget  of  ancient  gossip 
drawn  from  a  very  retentive  memory. 

"Of  the  way  in  which  Lydia  treated  her  poor 
dear  husband  I  know  little,"  cried  the  fair  Bella. 
"Only  this,  that  she  drove  him  out  of  the  house  by 
her  scandalous  conduct.  Yes,  indeed;  although  you 
may  not  believe  me,  Di.  You  were  away  in  Aus- 
tralia at  the  time,  but  I  kept  a  watch  on  Lydia  in 
your  interest,  dear,  and  our  housemaid  heard  from 
your  housemaid  the  most  dreadful  things.  Why, 
Mr.  Vrain  remonstrated  with  Lydia,  and  ordered 
Count  Ferruci  out  of  the  house,  but  Lydia  would 
not  let  him  go;  and  Mr.  Vrain  left  the  house  him- 
self." 

"Where  did  he  go  to,  Miss  Tyler?" 

"I  don't  know;  nobody  knows.  But  it  is  my 
opinion,"  said  the  spinster,  with  a  significant  look, 
"that  he  went  to  London  to  see  about  a  divorce. 
But  he  was  weak  in  the  head,  poor  man,  and  I  sup- 

121 


122  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

pose  let  things  go  on.  When  next  I  heard  of  him 
he  was  a  corpse  in  Geneva  Square." 

"But  did  my  father  tell  his  wife  that  he  was  in 
Geneva  Square?" 

"Dearest  D5,  I  can't  say;  but  I  don't  believe  he 
had  anything  to  do  with  her  after  he  left  the 
house." 

"Then  if  she  did  not  know  his  whereabouts,  how 
could  she  kill  him?"  asked  Denzil  pertinently. 

Brought  to. a  point  which  she  could  not  evade, 
Bella  declined  to  answer  this  question,  but  tossed 
her  head  and  bit  her  lip,  with  a  fine  colour.  All  her 
accusations  of  Mrs.  Vrain  had  been  made  gener- 
ally, and,  as  Lucian  noted,  were  unsupported  by 
fact.  From  a  legal  point  of  view  this  spiteful  gos- 
sip of  a  jealous  woman  was  worth  nothing,  but  in 
a  broad  sense  it  was  certainly  useful  in  showing  the 
discord  which  had  existed  between  Vrain  and  his 
wife.  Lucian  saw  that  little  good  was  to  be  gained 
from  this  prejudiced  witness,  so  thanking  Miss 
Tyler  courteously  for  her  information,  he  arose  to 

go- 

"Wait  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Denzil,"  said  Diana 
hurriedly.  "I  want  to  ask  you  something.  Bella, 
would  you  mind " 

"Leaving  the  room?  Oh,  dear,  no!"  burst  out 
Miss  Tyler,  annoyed  at  being  excluded.  "I've  said 
all  I  have  to  say,  and  anything  I  can  do,  dearest 
Di,  to  assist  you  and  Mr.  Denzil  in  hanging  that 
woman,  I " 

"Miss  Tyler,"  interrupted  Lucian  sternly,  "you 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  123 

must  not  speak- so  wildly,  for  as  yet  there  is  noth- 
ing to  prove  that  Mrs.  Vrain  is  guilty." 

"She  is  guilty  enough  for  me,  Mr.  Denzil;  but 
like  all  men,  I  suppose  you  take  her  side,  because 
she  is  supposed  to  be  pretty.  Pretty!"  reflected 
Bella  scornfully,  "I  never  could  see  it  myself;  a 
painted  up  minx,  dragged  up  from  the  gutter.  I 
wonder  at  your  taste,  Mr.  Denzil,  indeed  I  do. 
Pretty,  the  idea  !  What  fools  men  are !  I'm  glad  I 
never  married  one !  Indeed  no!  He!  he!" 

And  with  a  shrill  laugh  to  point  this  sour-grape 
sentiment,  and  mark  her  disdain  for  Lucian,  the 
fair  Bella  took  herself  and  her  lean  form  out  of 
the  room. 

Diana  and  the  barrister  were  too  deeply  inter- 
ested in  their  business  to  take  much  notice  of  Bella's 
hysterical  outburst,  but  looked  at  one  another  grave- 
ly as  she  departed. 

"Well,  Mr.  Denzil,"  said  the  former,  repeating 
her  earlier  question,  "what  is  to  be  done  now? 
Shall  we  see  Mrs.  Vrain?" 

"Not  yet,"  replied  Lucian  quickly.  "We  must 
secure  proofs  of  Mrs.  Vrain's  being  in  that  yard 
before  we  can  get  any  confession  out  of  her.  If 
you  will  leave  it  in  my  hands,  Miss  Vrain,  I  shall 
call  on  Mrs.  Bensusan." 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Bensusan?" 

"She  is  the  tenant  of  the  house  in  Jersey  Street. 
It  is  possible  that  she  or  her  servant  may  know 
something  about  the  illegal  use  made  of  the  right 
of  way." 


i24  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Yes,  I  think  that  is  the  next  step  to  take.  But 
what  am  I  to  do  in  the  meantime?" 

"Nothing.  If  I  were  you  I  would  not  even  see 
Mrs.  Vrain." 

"I  will  not  seek  her  voluntarily,"  replied  Diana, 
"but  as  I  have  been  to  Berwin  Manor  she  is  cer- 
tain to  hear  that  I  am  in  England,  and  may  perhaps 
find  out  my  address,  and  call.  But  if  she  does,  you 
may  be  sure  that  I  will  be  most  judicious  in  my 
remarks." 

"I  leave  all  that  to  your  discretion,"  said  Denzil, 
rising.  "Good-bye,  Miss  Vrain.  As  soon  as  I  am 
in  possession  of  any  new  evidence  I  shall  call 
again." 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Denzil,  and  thank  you  for  all 
your  kindness." 

Diana  made  this  remark  with  so  kindly  a  look, 
so  becoming  a  blush,  and  so  warm  a  pressure  of 
the  hand,  that  Lucian  felt  quite  overcome,  and  not 
trusting  himself  to  speak,  walked  swiftly  out  of 
the  room. 

In  spite  of  the  gravity  of  the  task  in  which  he 
was  concerned,  at  that  moment  he  thought  more  of 
Diana's  looks  and  speech  than  of  the  detective  busi- 
ness which  he  had  taken  up  for  love's  sake.  But 
on  reaching  his  rooms  in  Geneva  Square  he  made 
a  mighty  effort  to  waken  from  these  day  dreams, 
and  with  a  stern  determination  addressed  himself 
resolutely  to  the  work  in  hand. 

In  this  case  the  bitter  came  before  the  sweet. 
But  by  accomplishing  the  desire  of  Diana,  and  solv- 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  125 

ing  the  mystery-of  her  father's  death,  Lucian  hoped 
to  win  not  only  her  smiles  but  the  more  substantial 
reward  of  her  heart  and  hand. 

Before  calling  on  Mrs.  Bensusan  the  barrister  de- 
bated within  himself  as  to  whether  it  would  not  be 
judicious  to  call  in  again  the  assistance  of  Link,  and 
by  telling  him  of  the  new  evidence  which  had  been 
found  place  him  thereby  in  possession  of  new  ma- 
terial to  prosecute  the  case.  But  Link  lately  had 
taken  so  pessimistic  a  view  of  the  matter  that  Lucian 
fancied  he  would  scoff  at  his  late  discoveries,  and 
discourage  him  in  prosecuting  what  seemed  to  be 
a  fruitless  quest. 

Denzil  was  anxious,  as  Diana's  knight,  to  do 
as  much  of  the  work  as  possible  in  order  to  gain 
the  reward  of  her  smiles.  It  is  true  that  he  had 
no  legal  authority  to  make  these  inquiries,  and  it 
was  possible  that  Mrs.  Bensusan  might  refuse  to 
answer  questions  concerning  her  own  business,  un- 
sanctioned  by  law;  but  on  recalling  the  descrip- 
tion of  Miss  Greeb,  Lucian  fancied  that  Mrs.  Ben- 
susan, as  a  fat  woman,  might  only  be  good-natured 
and  timid. 

He  therefore  dismissed  all  ideas  of  asking  Link 
to  intervene,  and  resolved  to  risk  a  personal  inter- 
view with  the  tenant  of  the  Jersey  Street  house.  It 
would  be  time  enough  to  invite  Link's  assistance, 
he  thought,  when  Mrs.  Bensusan — as  yet  an  un- 
known quantity  in  the  case — proved  obstinate  in 
replying  to  his  questions. 

Mrs.  Bensusan  proved  to  be  quite  as  stout  as 


i26  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Miss  Greeb  had  reported.  A  gigantically  fat  wom- 
an, she  made  up  in  breadth  what  she  lacked  in 
length.  Yet  she  seemed  to  have  some  activity  about 
her,  too,  for  she  opened  the  door  personally  to 
Lucian,  who  was  quite  amazed  when  he  beheld  her 
monstrous  bulk  blocking  up  the  doorway.  Her 
face  was  white  and  round  like  a  pale  moon;  she 
had  staring  eyes  of  a  china  blue,  resembling  the 
vacant  optics  of  a  wax  doll;  and,  on  the  whole, 
appeared  to  be  a  timid,  lymphatic  woman,  likely  to 
answer  any  questions  put  to  her  in  a  sufficiently 
peremptory  tone.  Lucian  foresaw  that  he  was  not 
likely  to  have  much  trouble  with  this  mountain  of 
flesh. 

"What  might  you  be  pleased  to  want,  sir?"  she 
asked  Lucian,  in  the  meekest  of  voices.  uls  it  about 
the  lodgings?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  barrister  boldly,  for  he 
guessed  that  Mrs.  Bensusan  would  scuttle  back  into 
the  house  like  a  rabbit  to  its  burrow,  did  he  speak 
too  plainly  at  the  outset,  "that  is — I  wish  to  inquire 
about  a  friend  of  mine." 

"Did  he  lodge  here,  sir?" 

"Yes.    A  Mr.  Wrent." 

"Deary  me!"  said  the  fat  woman,  with  mild 
surprise.  "Mr.  Wrent  left  me  shortly  after  Christ- 
mas. A  kind  gentleman,  but  timid;  he " 

"Excuse  me,"  interrupted  Lucian,  who  wanted 
to  get  into  the  house,  "but  don't  you  think  you  could 
tell  me  about  my  friend  in  a  more  convenient  situa- 
tion?" 


(THE  SILENT  HOUSE  127 

"Oh,  yes,  sir — certainly,  sir,"  wheezed  Mrs. 
Bensusan,  rolling  back  up  the  narrow  passage.  "I 
beg  your  pardon,  sir,  for  my  forgetfulness,  but  my 
head  ain't  what  it  ought  to  be.  I'm  a  lone  widow, 
sir,  and  not  over  strong." 

Denzil  could  have  laughed  at  this  description, 
as  the  lady's  bulk  gave  the  lie  to  her  assertion. 
However,  on  diplomatic  grounds  he  suppressed  his 
mirth,  and  followed  his  ponderous  guide  into  a  sit- 
ting-room so  small  that  she  almost  filled  it  herself. 

As  he  left  the  passage  he  saw  a  brilliant  red  head 
pop  down  the  staircase  leading  to  the  basement; 
but  whether  it  was  that  of  a  man  or  a  woman  he 
could  not  say.  Still,  on  recalling  Miss  Greeb's  'de- 
scription of  the  Bensusan  household,  Ke  concluded 
that  the  red  head  was  the  property  of  Rhoda,  the 
sharp  servant,  and  argued  from  her  appearance  in 
the  background,  and  rapid  disappearance,  that  she 
was  in  the  habit  o'f  listening  to  conversations  she 
was  not  meant  to  hear. 

Mrs.  Bensusan  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  as  being 
most  accommodating  to  her  bulk,  and  cast  a  watery 
look  around  the  small  apartment,  whicK  was  fur- 
nished in  that  extraordinary  fashion  which  seems 
to  be  the  peculiar  characteristic  of  boarding  houses. 
The  walls  and  carpet  were  patterned  with  glowing 
bunches  of  red  roses ;  the  furniture  was  covered  with 
stamped  red  velvet;  the  ornaments  consisted  of 
shells,  wax  fruit  under  glass  shades,  mats  of  Berlin 
wool,  vases  with  dangling  pendants  of  glass,  and 


128  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

such  like  elegant  survivals  of  the  early  Victorian 
epoch. 

Hideous  as  the  apartment  was,  it  seemed  to  af- 
ford Mrs.  Bensusan — also  a  survival — great  pleas- 
ure; and  she  cast  a  complacent  look  around  as 
Lucian  seated  himself  on  an  uncomfortable  chair 
covered  with  an  antimacassar  of  crochet  work. 

"My  rooms  are  most  comfortable,  an'  much 
liked,"  said  Mrs.  Bensusan,  sighing,  "but  I  have 
not  had  many  lodgers  lately.  Rhoda  thinks  it  must 
be  on  account  of  that  horrible  murder." 

"The  murder  of  Vrain  in  No.  13  ?" 

"Ah!"  groaned  the  fat  woman,  looking  tear- 
fully over  her  double  chin,  "I  see  you  have  heard 
of  it" 

"Everybody  has  heard  of  it,"  replied  Lucian, 
"and  I  was  one  of  the  first  to  hear,  since  I  live  in 
Miss  Greeb's  house,  opposite  No.  13." 

"Indeed,  sir!"  grunted  Mrs.  Bensusan,  stiffening 
a  little  at  the  sound  of  a  rival  lodging-house  keep- 
er's name.  "Then  you  are  Mr.  Denzil,  the  gen- 
tleman who  occupies  Miss  Greeb's  first  floor  front." 

"Yes.  And  I  have  come  to  ask  you  a  few  ques- 
tions." 

"About  what,  sir?"  said  Mrs.  Bensusan,  visibly 
alarmed. 

"Concerning  Mr.  Wrent." 

"You  are  a  friend  of  his?" 

"I  said  so,  Mrs.  Bensusan,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact 
I  never  set  eyes  on  the  gentleman  in  my  life." 

Mrs.  Bensusan  .gasped  like  a  fish  put  of  water, 

I 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  129 

and  patted  her  fat  breast  with  her  fat  hand,  as 
though  to  give  herself  courage.  "It  is  not  like  a 
gentleman  to  say  that  another  gentleman's  his 
friend  when  he  ain't,"  she  said,  with  an  attempt  at 
dignity. 

"Very  true,"  answered  Lucian,  with  great  com- 
posure, "but  you  know  the  saying,  'All  is  fair  in 
love  and  war.'  I  will  be  plain  with  you,  Mrs.  Ben- 
susan,"  he  added,  "I  am  here  to  seek  possible  evi- 
dence in  connection  with  the  murder  of  Mr.  Vrain, 
in  No.  13,  on  Christmas  Eve." 

Mrs.  Bensusan  gave  a  kind  of  hoarse  screech, 
and  stared  at  Lucian  in  a  horrified  manner. 

"Murder!"  she  repeated.  "Lord!  what  mur — 
that  murder !  Mr.  Vrain !  Mr.  Vrain — that  mur- 
der!" she  repeated  over  and  over  again. 

"Yes,  the  murder  of  Mr.  Vrain  in  No.  13  Gen- 
eva Square  on  Christmas  Eve.  Now  do  you  under- 
stand?" 

With  another  gasp  Mrs.  Bensusan  threw  up  her 
fat  hands  and  raised  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling. 

"As  I  am  a  Christian  woman,  sir,"  she  cried,  "I 
am  as  innocent  as  a  babe  unborn  1" 

"Of  what?"  asked  Lucian  sharply. 

"Of  the  murder !"  wept  Mrs.  Bensusan,  now  dis- 
solved in  tears.  "Rhoda  said " 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  what  Rhoda  said,"  inter- 
rupted Lucian  impatiently,  "and  I  am  not  accusing 
you  of  the  murder.  But — your  house  is  at  the  back 
of  No.  13." 


130  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Bensusan,  weeping  like  a 
Niobe. 

"And  a  fence  divides  your  yard  from  that  of  No. 

13?" 

"I  won't  contradict  you,  sir — it  do." 

"And  there  is  a  passage  leading  from  Jersey 
Street  into  your  yard?" 

"There  is,  Mr.  Denzil;  it's  useful  for  the  trades- 
people." 

"And  I  daresay  useful  to  others,"  said  Lucian 
drily.  "Now,  Mrs.  Bensusan,  do  you  know  if  any 
lady  was  in  the  habit  of  passing  through  that  pas- 
sage at  night?" 

Before  Mrs.  Bensusan  could  answer  the  door  was 
dashed  open,  and  Rhoda,  the  red-headed,  darted 
into  the  room. 

"Don't  answer,  missus !"  she  cried  shortly.  "As 
you  love  me,  mum,  don't  1" 


THE  one  servant  of  Mrs.  Bensusan  was  a  girl  of 
seventeen,  who  had  a  local  fame  in  the  neighbour- 
hood on  account  of  her  sharp  tongue  and  many  pre- 
cocious qualities.  No  one  knew  who  her  parents 
were,  or  where  the  fat  landlady  had  picked  her  up ; 
but  she  had  been  in  the  Jersey  Street  house  some 
ten  years,  and  had  been  educated  and — in  a  manner 
— adopted  by  its  mistress,  although  Mrs.  Bensusan 
always  gave  her  cronies  to  understand  that  Rhoda 
was  simply  and  solely  the  domestic  of  the  estab- 
lishment. 

Nevertheless,  for  one  of  her  humble  position, 
she  had  a  wonderful  power  over  her  stout  employ- 
er, the  power  of  a  strong  mind  over  a  weak  one, 
and  in  spite  of  her  youth  it  was  well  known  that 
Rhoda  managed  the  domestic  economy  of  the  house. 
Mrs.  Bensusan  was  the  sovereign,  Rhoda  the  prime 
minister. 

This  position  she  had  earned  by  dint  of  her  own 
sharpness  in  dealing  with  the  world.  And  the  local 
tradesmen  were  afraid  of  Rhoda.  "Mrs.  Bensu- 
san's  devil,"  they  called  her,  and  never  dared  to 


132  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

give  short  weight,  or  charge  extra  prices,  or  pass 
off  damaged  goods  as  new,  when  Rhoda  was  the 
purchaser.  On  the  contrary,  No.  9  Jersey  Street 
was  supplied  with  everything  of  the  best,  promptly 
and  civilly,  at  ordinary  market  rates;  for  neither 
butcher,  nor  baker,  nor  candlestick  maker,  was  dar- 
ing enough  to  risk  Rhoda's  tongue  raging  like  a 
prairie  fire  over  their  shortcomings.  Several  land- 
ladies, knowing  Rhoda's  value,  had  tried  to  entice 
her  from  Mrs.  Bensusan  by  offers  of  higher  wages 
and  better  quarters,  but  the  girl  refused  to  leave 
her  stout  mistress,  and  so  continued  quite  a  fixture 
of  the  lodgings.  Even  in  the  city,  Rhoda  had  been 
spoken  of  by  clerks  who  had  lived  in  Jersey  Street, 
and  so  had  more  than  a  local  reputation  for  origi- 
nality. 

This  celebrated  handmaid  was  as  lean  as  her 
mistress  was  stout.  Her  hair  was  magnificent  in 
quality  and  quantity,  but,  alas !  was  of  the  unpopu- 
lar tint  called  red;  not  auburn,  or  copper  hued,  or 
the  famous  Titian  colour,  but  a  blazing,  fiery  red, 
which  made  it  look  like  a  comic  wig.  Her  face 
was  pale  and  freckled,  her  eyes  black — in  strange 
contrast  to  her  hair,  and  her  mouth  large,  but  gar- 
nished with  an  excellent  set  of  white  teeth. 

Rhoda  was  not  neat  in  her  attire,  perhaps  not 
having  arrived  at  the  age  of  coquetry,  for  she  wore 
a  dingy  grey  dress  much  too  short  for  her,  a  pair  of 
carpet  slippers  which  had  been  left  by  a  departed 
lodger,  and  usually  went  about  with  her  sleeves 
tucked  up,  and  a  resolute  look  on  her  sharp  face. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  133 

Such  was  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Bensusan's  devil, 
who  entered  to  forbid  her  mistress  confiding  in 
Lucian. 

"Oh,  Rhoda!"  groaned  Mrs.  Bensusan.  "You 
bad  gal !  I  believe  as  you've  'ad  your  ear  to  the 
keyhole." 

"I  'ave!"  retorted  Rhoda  defiantly.  "It's  been 
there  for  five  minutes,  and  good  it  is  for  you,  mum, 
as  I  ain't  above  listening.  What  do  you  mean,  sir," 
she  cried,  turning  on  Lucian  like  a  fierce  sparrow, 
"by  coming  'ere  to  frighten  two  lone  females,  and 
her  as  innocent  as  a  spring  chicken?" 

"Oh!"  said  Lucian,  looking  at  her  composedly, 
"so  you  are  the  celebrated  Rhoda  ?  I've  heard  of 
you." 

"Not  much  good,  then,  sir,  if  Miss  Greeb  was 
talking,"  rejoined  the  red-haired  girl,  with  a  sniff. 
"Oh,  I  know  her." 

"Rhoda  !  Rhoda !"  bleated  her  mistress,  "do  'old 
your  tongue !  I  telFyou  this  gentleman's  a  police." 

"He  ain't!"  said  the  undaunted  Rhoda.  "He's 
in  the  law.  Oh,  I  knows  him !' 

"Ain't  the  law  the  police,  you  foolish  gal?" 

"Of  course  it "  began  Rhoda,  when  Lucian, 

who  thought  that  she  had  displayed  quite  sufficient 
eccentricity,  cut  her  short  with  a  quick  gesture. 

"See  here,  my  girl,"  he  said  sharply,  "you  must 
not  behave  in  this  fashion.  I  have  reason  to  believe 
that  the  assassin  of  Mr.  Vrain  entered  the  house 
through  the  premises  of  your  mistress." 

"Lawks,  what  a  'orrible  idear!"  shrieked  Mrs. 


i34  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Bensusan.  "Good  'eavens,  Rhoda,  did  you  see  the 
murdering  villain?" 

"Me?  No!  I  never  sawr  nothing,  mum,"  re- 
plied Rhoda  doggedly. 

Lucian,  watching  the  girl's  face,  and  the  uneasy 
expression  in  her  eyes,  felt  convinced  she  was  not 
telling  the  truth.  It  was  no  use  forcing  her  to 
speak,  as  he  saw  very  plainly  that  Rhoda  was  one 
of  those  obstinate  people  whom  severity  only  hard- 
ened. Much  more  could  be  done  with  her  by  kind- 
ness, and  Denzil  adopted  this — to  him — more  con- 
genial course. 

"If  Rhoda  is  bound  by  any  promise,  Mrs.  Ben- 
susan, I  do  not  wish  her  to  speak,"  he  said  indif- 
ferently, "but  in  the  interests  of  justice  I  am  sure 
you  will  not  refuse  to  answer  my  questions." 

"Lord,  sir!  I  know  nothing!"  whimpered  the 
terrified  landlady. 

"Will  you  answer  a  few  questions?"  asked  Den- 
zil persuasively. 

Mrs.  Bensusan  glanced  in  a  scared  manner  at 
Rhoda,  who,  meanwhile,  had  been  standing  in  a 
sullen  and  hesitating  attitude.  When  she  thought 
herself  unobserved,  she  stole  swift  glances  at  the 
visitor,  trying  evidently  to  read  his  character  by 
observation  of  his  face  and  manner.  It  would  seem 
that  her  scrutiny  was  favourable,  for  before  Mrs. 
Bensusan  could  answer  Lucian's  question  she  asked 
him  one  herself. 

"What  do  you  want  to  know,  sir?" 

"I  want  to  know  all  about  Mr.  Wrent." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  135 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  fancy  he  has  something  to  do  with 
this  crime." 

"Lord !"  groaned  Mrs.  Bensusan.  "'Ave  I  wait- 
ed on  a  murderer?" 

"I  don't  say  he  is  a  murderer,  Mrs.  Bensusan, 
but  he  knows  something  likely  to  put  us  on  the  track 
of  the  criminal." 

"What  makes  ye  take  up  the  case?"  demanded 
Rhoda  sharply. 

"Because  I  know  that  Mr.  Wrent  came  to  board 
in  this  house  shortly  after  Mr.  Vrain  occupied  No. 
13,"  replied  Denzil. 

"Who  says  he  did?" 

"Miss  Greeb,  my  landlady,  and  she  also  told 
me  that  he  left  here  two  days  after  the  murder." 

"That's  as  true  as  true!"  cried  Mrs.  Bensusan, 
"ain't  it,  Rhoda?  We  lost  him  'cause  he  said  he 
couldn't  abide  living  near  a  house  where  a  crime 
had  been  committed." 

"Well,  then,  continued  Lucian,  seeing  that 
Rhoda,  without  speaking,  continued  to  watch  him, 
"the  coincidence  of  Mr.  Wrent's  stay  with  that  of 
Mr.  Vrain's  strikes  me  as  peculiar." 

"You  are  a  sharp  one,  you  are!"  said  Rhoda, 
with  an  approving  nod.  "Look  here,  Mr.  Denzil, 
would  you  break  a  promise  ?" 

"That  depends  upon  what  the  promise  was." 

"It  was  one  I  made  to  hold  my  tongue." 

"About  what?" 

"Several  things,"  said  the  girl  shortly. 


136  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Have  they  to  do  with  this  crime?"  asked  Lucian 
eagerly. 

"I  don't  know.  I  can't  say,"  said  Rhoda;  then 
suddenly  her  face  grew  black.  "I  tell  you  what, 
sir,  I  hate  Mr.  Wrent!"  she  declared. 

"Oh,  Rhoda!"  cried  Mrs.  Bensusan.  "After 
the  lovely  cloak  he  gave  you !" 

The  red-haired  girl  looked  contemptuously  at 
her  mistress;  then,  without  a  word,  darted  out  of 
the  room.  Before  Lucian  could  conjecture  the  rea- 
son of  her  strange  conduct,  or  Mrs.  Bensusan  could 
get  her  breath  again — a  very  difficult  operation 
for  her — Rhoda  was  back  with  a  blue  cloth  cloak, 
lined  with  rabbit  skins,  hanging  over  her  arm.  This 
she  threw  down  at  the  feet  of  Lucian,  and  stamped 
on  it  savagely  with  the  carpet  slippers. 

"There's  his  present!"  she  cried  angrily,  "but 
I  wish  I  could  dance  on  him  the  same  way !  I  wish 
— I  wish  I  could  hang  him !" 

"Can  you?"  demanded  Lucian  swiftly,  taking 
her  in  the  moment  of  wrath,  when  she  seemed  dis- 
posed to  speak. 

"No!"  said  Rhoda  shortly.    "I  can't!" 

"Do  you  think  he  killed  Mr.  Vrain?" 

"No,  I  don't!" 

"Do  you  know  who  did?" 

"Blest  if  I  do !" 

"Does  Mr.  Wrent?"  asked  Denzil  meaningly. 

The  girl  wet  her  finger  and  went  through  a  child- 
ish game.  "That's  wet,"  she  said;  then  wiping  the 
finger  on  her  dingy  skirt,  "that's  dry.  Cut  my 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  137 

throat  if  I  tell  "a  lie.  Ask  me  something  easier,  Mr. 
Denzil." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Lucian,  quite  puz- 
zled. 

"Rhoda !  Rhoda !  'Ave  you  gone  crazy?"  wailed 
Mrs.  Bensusan. 

"Look  here,"  said  the  girl,  taking  no  notice  of 
her  mistress,  "do  you  want  to  know  about  Mr. 
Wrent?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"And  about  that  side  passage  as  you  talked  of 
to  the  missis?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I'll  answer  yer  questions,  sir.  You'll  know 
all  I  know." 

"Very  good,"  said  Lucian,  with  an  approving 
smile,  "now  you  are  talking  like  a  sensible  girl." 

"Rhoda !  You  ain't  going  to  talk  bad  of  Mr. 
Wrent?" 

"It  ain't  bad,  and  it  ain't  good,"  replied  Rhoda. 
"It's  betwixt  and  between." 

"Well,  I  must  'ear  all.  I  don't  want  the  char- 
acter of  the  'ouse  took  away,"  said  Mrs.  Bensusan, 
with  an  attempt  at  firmness. 

"That's  all  right,"  rejoined  Rhoda  reassuringly, 
"you  can  jine  in  yerself  when  y'  like.  Fire  away, 
Mr.  Denzil." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Wrent?"  asked  Lucian,  going 
straight  to  the  point. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Rhoda;  and  henceforth 
the  examination  proceeded  as  though  the  girl  were 


138  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

in  the  witness-box  and  Lucian  counsel  for  the  prose- 
cution. 

Q.  When  did  he  come  to  Jersey  Street? 
A.  At  the  end  of  July,  last  year. 
Q.  When  did  he  go  away  ? 

A.  The  morning  after  Boxing  Day. 

Q.  Can  you  describe  his  appearance  ? 

A.  He  was  of  the  middle  height,  with  a  fresh 
complexion,  white  hair,  and  a  white  beard  growing 
all  over  his  face.  He  was  untidy  about  his  clothes, 
and  kept  a  good  deal  to  his  own  room  among  a  lot 
of  books.  I  don't  think  he  was  quite  right  in  his 
head. 

Q.  Did  he  pay  his  rent  regularly? 

A.  Yes,  except  when  he  was  away.  He  would 
go  away  for  a  week  at  a  time. 

Q.  Was  he  in  this  house  on  Christmas  Eve  ? 

A.  Yes,  sir.  He  came  back  two  days  before 
Christmas. 

Q.  Where  had  he  been? 

A.  I  don't  know ;  he  did  not  say. 

Q.  Did  he  have  any  visitors? 

A.  He  did.    A  tall,  dark  man  and  a  lady. 

Q.  What  was  the  lady  like  ? 

A.  A  little  woman ;  I  never  saw  her  face,  as  she 
always  kept  her  veil  down. 

Q.  What  kind  of  a  veil  did  she  wear? 

A.  A  black  gauze  veil  with  velvet  spots. 

Q.  Did  she  come  often  to  see  Mr.  Wrent? 

A.  Yes.    Four  or  five  times. 

Q.  When  did  she  call  last? 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  139 

A.  On  Christmas  Eve. 

Q.  At  what  hour? 

A.  She  came  at  seven,  and  went  away  at  eight. 
I  know  that  because  she  had  supper  with  Mr. 
Wrent. 

Q.  Did  she  leave  the  house? 

A.  Yes.    I  let  her  out  myself. 

Q.  Did  you  ever  hear  any  conversation  between 
them? 

A.  No.  Mr.  Wrent  took  care  of  that.  I  never 
got  any  chance  of  listening  at  keyholes  with  him. 
He  was  a  sharp  one,  for  all  his  craziness. 

Q.  What  was  the  male  visitor  like? 

A.  He  was  tall  and  dark,  with  a  black  mous- 
tache. 

Q.  Do  you  think  he  was  a  foreigner? 

A.  I  don't  know.  I  never  heard  him  speak.  Mr. 
Wrent  let  him  out,  as  usual. 

Q.  When  did  he  visit  Mr.  Wrent  last? 

A.  On  Christmas  Eve.    He  came  with  the  lady. 

Q.  Did  he  stay  to  supper  also? 

A.  No.  He  went  away  at  half-past  seven.  Mr. 
Wrent  let  him  out,  as  usual. 

Q.  Did  he  go  away  altogether? 

A.  I — I — I  am  not  sure !  (here  the  witness  hesi- 
tated). 

Q.  Why  did  Mr.  Wrent  give  you  the  cloak  ? 

A.  To  make  me  hold  my  tongue  about  the  dark 
man. 

Q.  Why? 

A.  Because  I  saw  him  in  the  back  yard. 


i4o  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Q.  On  what  night? 

A.  On  the  night  of  Christmas  Eve,  about  half- 
past  eight. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MRS.  VRAIN  AT  BAY 

"You  saw  the  dark  man  in  the  back  yard  on 
Christmas  Eve  ?"  repeated  Lucian,  much  surprised 
by  this  discovery. 

"Yes,  I  did,"  replied  Rhoda  decisively,  "at  half- 
past  eight  o'clock.  I  went  out  into  the  yard  to 
put  some  empty  bottles  into  the  shed,  and  I  saw 
the  man  standing  near  the  fence,  looking  at  the 
back  of  No.  13.  When  he  heard  me  coming  out  he 
rushed  past  me  and  out  by  the  side  passage.  The 
moon  was  shining,  and  I  saw  him  as  plain  as  plain." 

"Did  he  seem  afraid?" 

"Yes,  he  did;  and  didn't  want  to  be  seen,  neither. 
I  told  Mr.  Wrent,  and  he  promised  me  a  cloak  if 
I  held  my  tongue.  He  said  the  dark  man  was  wait- 
ing in  the  yard  until  the  lady  had  gone,  when  he 
was  coming  in  again." 

"But  the  lady,  you  say,  went  at  eight,  and  you 
saw  the  man  half  an  hour  later?" 

"That's  it,  sir.  He  told  me  a  lie,  for  he  never 
came  in  again  to  see  Mr.  Wrent." 

"But  already  the  dark  man  had  seen  the  lady?" 

"Yes.  He  came  in  with  her  at  seven,  and  went 
away  at  half-past." 

141 


i42  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Lucian  mechanically  stooped  down  and  picked  up 
the  fur  cloak.  He  was  puzzled  by  the  information 
given  by  Rhoda,  and  did  not  exactly  see  what  use 
to  make  of  it.  Going  by  the  complexion  of  the 
man  who  had  lurked  in  the  back  yard,  it  would 
appear  that  he  was  Count  Ferruci ;  while  the  small 
stature  of  the  woman,  and  the  fact  that  she  wore 
a  velvet-spotted  veil,  indicated  that  she  was  Lydia 
Vrain;  also  the  pair  had  been  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
haunted  house  on  the  night  of  the  murder;  and, 
although  it  was  true  both  were  out  of  the  place 
by  half-past  eight,  yet  they  might  not  have  gone 
far,  but  had  probably  returned  later — when  Rhoda 
and  Mrs.  Bensusan  were  asleep — to  murder  Vrain, 
between  the  hours  of  eleven  and  twelve  on  the  same 
night. 

This  was  all  plain  enough,  but  Lucian  was  puz- 
zled by  the  account  of  Mr.  Wrent.  Who,  he  asked 
himself  repeatedly,  who  was  this  grey-haired,  white- 
bearded  man  who  had  so  often  received  Lydia,  who 
had  on  Christmas  Eve  silenced  Rhoda  regarding 
Ferruci's  presence  in  the  yard,  by  means  of  the 
cloak,  and  who — it  would  seem — possessed  the  key 
to  the  whole  mystery? 

Rhoda  could  tell  no  more  but  that  he  had  stayed 
six  months  with  Mrs.  Bensusan,  and  had  departed 
two  days  after  the  murder;  whereby  it  would  seem 
that  his  task  having  been  completed,  he  had  no 
reason  to  remain  longer  in  so  dangerous  a  neigh- 
bourhood. Yet  four  months  had  elapsed  since  his 
departure,  and  Derizil,  after  some  reflection,  asked 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  143 

Mrs.  Bensus&i  a  question  or  two  regarding  this  in- 
terval. 

"Has  Mr.  Wrent  returned  here  since  his  de- 
parture?" he  demanded. 

"Lawks!  no,  sir!"  wheezed  Mrs.  Bensusan, 
shaking  her  head.  "I've  never  set  eyes  on  him 
since  he  went.  'Ave  you,  Rhoda?"  Whereat  the 
girl  shook  her  head  also,  and  watched  Lucian  with 
an  intensity  of  gaze  which  somewhat  discomposed 
him. 

"Did  he  owe  you  any  money  when  he  went,  Mrs. 
Bensusan?" 

"No,  sir.  He  paid  up  like  a  gentleman.  I  al- 
ways thought  well  of  Mr.  Wrent." 

"Rhoda  doesn't  seem  to  share  your  sentiments," 
said  Denzil  drily. 

"No,  I  don't!"  cried  the  servant,  frowning.  "I 
hated  Mr.  Wrent!" 

"Why  did  you  hate  him?" 

"Never  you  mind,  sir,"  retorted  Rhoda  grimly. 
"I  hated  him." 

"Yet  he  bought  you  this  cloak." 

"No,  he  didn't !"  contradicted  the  girl.  "He  got 
it  from  the  lady!" 

"What!"  cried  Lucian  sharply.  "Are  you  sure 
of  that?" 

"I  can't  exactly  swear  to  it,"  replied  Rhoda,  hesi- 
tating, "but  it  was  this  way:  The  lady  wore  a 
cloak  like  that,  and  I  admired  it  awful.  She  had 
it  on  when  she  came,  Christmas  Eve,  and  she  didn't 
wear  it  when  I  let  her  out,  and  the  next  day  Mr. 


144  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Wrent  gave  it  to  me.  So  I  suppose  it  is  the  same 
cloak." 

"And  did  the  lady  go  out  into  the  cold  winter 
weather  without  the  cloak?" 

"Yes;  but  she  had  a  long  cloth  jacket  on,  sir,  so 
I  don't  s'pose  she  missed  it." 

"Was  the  lady  agitated  when  she  went  out?" 

"I  don't  know.  She  held  her  tongue  and  kept 
her  veil  down." 

"Can  you  tell  me  anything  more?"  asked  Lucian, 
anxious  to  make  the  examination  as  exhaustive  as 
possible. 

"No,  Mr.  Denzil,"  answered  Rhoda,  after  some 
thought,  "I  can't,  except  that  Mr.  Wrent,  long  be- 
fore Christmas,  promised  me  a  present,  and  gave 
me  the  cloak  then." 

"Will  you  let  me  take  this  cloak  away  with  me?" 

?'If  you  like,"  replied  Rhoda  carelessly.  "I 
don't  want  it.' 

"Oh,  Rhoda!"  wailed  Mrs.  Bensusan.  "Your 
lovely,  lovely  rabbit  skin!" 

"I'll  bring  it  back  again,"  said  Lucian  hastily. 
"I  only  want  to  use  it  as  evidence." 

"Ye  want  to  know  who  the  lady  is?"  said  Rhoda 
sharply. 

"Yes,  I  do.    Can  you  tell  me  ?" 

"No ;  but  you'll  find  out  from  that  cloak.  I  guess 
why  you're  taking  it." 

"You  are  very  sharp,  Rhoda,"  said  Lucian,  ris- 
ing, with  a  good-humoured  smile,  "and  well  deserve 
your  local  reputation.  If  I  find  Mr.  Wrent,  I  may 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  145 

require  you  to  identify  him:  and  Mrs.  Bensusan 
also." 

"I'll  be  able  to  do  that,  but  missus  hasn't  her 
eyes  much." 

"Hasn't  her  eyes?"  repeated  Denzil,  with  a 
glance  at  Mrs.  Bensusan's  staring  orbs. 

"Lawks,  sir,  I'm  shortsighted,  though  I  never 
lets  on.  Rhoda,  'ow  can  you  'ave  let  on  to  the  gen- 
tleman as  I'm  deficient?  As  to  knowing  Mr.  Wrent, 
I'd  do  so  well  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Bensusan,  tossing 
her  head,  "with  his  long  white  beard  and  white 
'ead,  let  alone  his  black  velvet  skull-cap." 

"Oh,  he  wore  a  skull  cap?" 

"Only  indoors,"  said  Rhoda  sharply,  "but  here 
I'm  'olding  the  door  wide,  sir,  so  if  you've  done, 
we're  done." 

"I'm  done,  as  you  call  it,  for  the  present,"  re- 
plied Denzil,  putting  on  his  hat,  "but  I  may  come 
again.  In  the  meantime,  hold  your  tongues.  Si- 
lence on  this  occasion  will  be  gold;  speech  won't 
even  be  silver." 

Mrs.  Bensusan  laughed  at  this  speech  in  a  fat 
and  comfortable  sort  of  way,  while  Rhoda  grinned, 
and  escorted  Lucian  to  the  front  door.  She  looked 
so  uncanny,  with  her  red  hair  and  black  eyes,  that 
the  barrister  could  not  forbear  a  question. 

"Are  you  English,  my  girl?" 

"No,  I  ain't!"  retorted  Rhoda  emphatically. 
"I'm  of  the  gentle  Romany." 

"A  gipsy!" 

"So  you  Gorgios  call  us  I"  replied  the  girl,  and 


146  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

shut  the  door  with  what  seemed  to  be  unnecessary 
violence.  Lucian  went  off  with  the  cloak  over  his 
arm,  somewhat  discomposed  by  this  last  piece  of 
information. 

"A  gipsy!"  he  repeated.  "Humph!  Can  good 
come  out  of  Nazareth?  I  don't  trust  that  girl 
much.  If  I  knew  why  she  hates  Wrent,  I'd  be  much 
more  satisfied  with  her  information.  And  who  the 
deuce  is  Wrent?" 

Lucian  had  occasion  to  ask  himself  this  question 
many  times  before  he  found  its  answer,  and  that 
was  not  until  afterwards.  At  the  present  moment 
he  dismissed  it  from  his  mind  as  unprofitable.  He 
was  too  busy  reflecting  on  the  evidence  obtained  in 
Jersey  Street  to  waste  time  in  conjecturing  further 
events.  On  returning  to  his  lodgings  he  sat  down 
to  consider  what  was  best  to  be  done. 

After  much  reflection  and  internal  argument,  he 
decided  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Vrain,  and  by  producing 
the  cloak,  force  her  into  confessing  her  share  of 
the  crime.  Whether  she  had  been  the  principal 
in  the  deed,  or  an  accessory  before  the  fact,  Lucian 
could  not  determine;  but  he  was  confident  that  in 
one  way  or  another  she  was  cognizant  of  the  truth ; 
although  this  she  would  probably  conceal,  as  its 
revelation  would  likely  be  detrimental  to  her  own 
safety.  , 

At  first  Denzil  intended  to  see  Diana  before  vis- 
iting Mrs.  Vrain,  in  order  to  relate  all  he  had 
learned,  and  find  out  from  her  if  the  cloak  really 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  147 

belonged  to-the  widow.  But  on  second  thoughts 
he  decided  not  to  do  so. 

"I  can  tell  her  nothing  absolutely  certain  about 
the  matter,"  he  said  to  himself,  "as  I  cannot  be 
sure  of  anything  until  I  force  Mrs.  Vrain  to  con- 
fess. Diana,"  so  he  called  her  in  his  discourse  to 
himself,  "Diana  will  probably  know  nothing  about 
the  ownership  of  the  cloak,  as  it  seems  new,  and 
was  probably  purchased  by  Lydia  during  the  ab- 
sence of  Diana  in  Australia.  No,  I  have  the  ad- 
dress of  Mrs.  Vrain,  which  Diana  gave  me.  It  will 
be  best  to  call  on  her,  and  by  displaying  the  cloak 
make  her  acknowledge  her  guilt. 

"With  such  evidence  she  cannot  deny  that  she 
visited  vVrent;  and  was  in  the  vicinity  of  the  house 
wherein  her  husband  was  murdered  on  the  very 
night  the  crime  was  committed.  Also  she  must 
state  Ferruci's  reason  for  hiding  in  the  back  yard, 
and  tell  me  plainly  who  Wrent  is,  and  why  he 
helped  the  pair  of  them  in  their  devilish  plans.  I 
am  doubtful  if  she  will  speak;  but  altogether  the 
evidence  I  have  collected  inculpates  her  so  strongly 
that  it  will  be  quite  sufficient  grounds  upon  which 
to  obtain  a  warrant  for  her  arrest.  And  sooner 
than  risk  that,  I  expect  she  will  tell  as  much  as 
she  can  to  exculpate  herself — that  is,  if  she  is  really 
innocent.  If  she  is  guilty,"  Lucian  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  "then  I  cannot  guess  what  course  she 
will  take." 

Mrs.  Vrain,  with  her  father  to  protect  her,  had 
established  herself  in  a  small  but  luxurious  house 


i48  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

in  Mayfair,  and  was  preparing  to  enjoy  herself  dur- 
ing the  coming  season.  Although  her  husband  had 
met  with  a  terrible  death  scarcely  six  months  be- 
fore, she  had  already  cast  off  her  heavy  mourning, 
and  wore  only  such  millinery  indications  of  sorrow 
as  suited  with  her  widowed  existence. 

Ferruci  was  a  constant  visitor  at  the  house;  but 
although  Lydia  was  now  free,  and  wealthy,  she  by 
no  means  seemed  ready  to  marry  the  Italian.  Per- 
haps she  thought,  with  her  looks  and  riches,  she 
might  gain  an  English  title,  as  more  valuable  than 
a  Continental  one;  and  in  this  view  she  was  sup- 
ported by  her  father.  Clyne  had  no  other  desire 
than  to  see  his  beloved  Lydia  happy,  and  would 
willingly  have  sacrificed  everything  in  his  power  to 
gain  such  an  end;  but  as  he  did  not  like  Ferruci 
himself,  and  saw  that  Lydia's  affections  towards 
him  had  cooled  greatly,  he  did  not  encourage  the 
idea  of  a  match  between  them. 

However,  these  matters  were  yet  in  abeyance, 
as  Lydia  was  too  diplomatic  to  break  off  with  so 
subtle  a  man  as  the  Count,  who  might  prove  a 
dangerous  enemy  were  his  love  turned  to  hate,  and 
Mr.  Clyne  was  quite  willing  to  remain  on  friendly 
terms  vith  the  man  so  long  as  Lydia  chose  that 
such  friendship  should  exist.  In  short,  Lydia  ruled 
her  simple  father  with  a  rod  of  iron,  and  coaxed 
Ferruci — a  more  difficult  man  to  deal  with — into 
good  humour;  so  she  managed  both  of  them  skil- 
fully in  every  way,  and  contrived  to  keep  things 
smooth,  pending  her  plunge  into  London  society. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  149 

For  all  her  childish  looks,  Lydia  was  uncommonly 
clever. 

When  Lucian's  card  was  brought  in,  Mrs.  Vrain 
proved  to  be  at  home,  and  as  his  good  looks  had 
made  a  deep  impression  on  her,  she  received  him  at 
once.  He  was  shown  into  a  luxuriously  furnished 
drawing-room  without  delay,  and  welcomed  by 
pretty  Mrs.  Vrain  herself,  who  came  forward  with 
a  bright  smile  and  outstretched  hands,  looking  more 
charming  than  ever. 

"Well,  I  do  call  this  real  sweet  of  you,"  said 
she  gaily.  "I  guess  it  is  about  time  you  showed 
up.  But  you  don't  look  well,  that's  a  fact.  What's 
wrong?" 

"I'm  worried  a  little,"  replied  Lucian,  confound- 
ed by  her  coolness. 

"That's  no  use,  Mr.  Denzil.  You  should  never 
be  worried.  I  guess  I  don't  let  anything  put  me 
out." 

"Not  even  your  husband's  death?" 

"That's  rude!"  said  Lydia  sharply,  the  colour 
leaving  her  cheek.  "What  do  you  mean?  Have 
you  come  to  be  nasty?" 

"I  came  to  return  you  this,"  said  Denzil,  throw- 
ing the  cloak  which  he  had  carried  on  his  arm  before 
the  widow. 

"This?"  echoed  Mrs.  Vrain,  looking  at  it. 
"Well,  what's  this  old  thing  got  to  do  with  me?" 

"It's  yours;  you  left  it  in  Jersey  Street!" 

"Did  I ?    And  where's  Jersey  Street?" 

"You  know  well  enough,"  said  Lucian  sternly. 


150  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"It  is  near  the  place  where  your  husband  was  mur- 
dered." 

Mrs.  Vrain  turned  white.  "Do  you  dare  to 

say "  she  began,  when  Denzil  cut  her  short 

with  a  hint  at  her  former  discomposure. 

"The  stiletto,  Mrs.  Vrain!  Don't  forget  the 
stiletto!" 

"Oh,  God!"  cried  Lydia,  trembling  violently. 
"What  do  you  know  of  the  stiletto?" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  DENIAL 

"WHAT  do  you  know  of  the  stiletto?"  repeated 
Mrs.  Vrain  anxiously. 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and,  with  an  effort  to 
be  calm,  was  holding  on  to  the  near  chair.  Her 
bright  colour  had  faded  to  a  dull  white  hue,  and 
her  eyes  had  a  look  of  horror  in  their  depths  which 
transformed  her  from  her  childish  beauty  into  a 
much  older  and  more  haggard  woman  than  she 
really  was.  It  seemed  as  though  Lucian,  by  some 
necromantic  spell,  had  robbed  her  of  youth,  vitality, 
and  careless  happiness.  To  him  this  extraordinary 
agitation  was  a  proof  of  her  guilt;  and  hardening 
his  heart  so  as  not  to  spare  her  one  iota  of  her 
penalty — a  mercy  she  did  not  deserve — he  ad- 
dressed her  sternly: 

"I  know  that  a  stiletto  purchased  in  Florence  by 
your  late  husband  hung  on  the  library  wall  of  Ber- 
win  Manor.  I  know  that  it  is  gone !" 

"Yes!  yes!"  said  Lydia,  moistening  her  white, 
dry  lips,  "it  is  gone;  but  I  do  not  know  who  took 
it." 

"The  person  who  killed  your  husband." 


152  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"I  feared  as  much,"  she  muttered,  sitting  down 
again.  "Do  you  know  the  name  of  the  person  ?" 

"As  well  as  you  do  yourself.  The  name  is  Lydia 
Vrain!" 

"I !"  She  threw  herself  back  on  the  chair  with 
a  look  of  profound  astonishment  on  her  colourless 
face.  "Mr.  Denzil,"  she  stammered,  "is — is  this 
— is  this  a  jest?" 

"You  will  not  find  it  so,  Mrs.  Vrain." 

The  little  woman  clutched  the  arms  of  her  chair 
and  leaned  forward  with  her  face  no  longer  pale, 
but  red  with  rage  and  indignation.  "If  you  are  a 
gentleman,  Mr.  Denzil,  I  guess  you  won't  keep  me 
hanging  on  like  this.  Let  us  get  level.  Do  you 
say  I  killed  Mark?" 

"Yes,  I  do !"  said  Lucian  defiantly.  "I  am  sure 
of  it." 

"On  what  grounds?"  asked  Mrs.  Vrain,  holding 
her  temper  back  with  a  visible  effort,  that  made  her 
eyes  glitter  and  her  breath  short. 

"On  the  grounds  that  he  was  killed  with  that 
stiletto  and " 

"Go  slow!  How  do  you  know  he  was  killed 
with  that  stiletto?" 

"Because  the  ribbon  which  attached  it  to  the  wall 
was  found  in  the  Geneva  Square  house,  where  your 
husband  was  killed.  Miss  Vrain  recognised  it." 

"Miss  Vrain — Diana !    Is  she  in  England  ?" 

"Not  only  in  England,  but  in  London." 

"Then  why  hasn't  she  been  to  see  me?" 

Denzil  did  not  like  to  answer  this  question,  the 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  153 

more  so  as*  Lydia's  sudden  divergence  from  the 
point  of  discourse  rather  disconcerted  him.  It  is 
impossible  to  maintain  dignity  in  making  a  serious 
accusation  when  the  person  against  whom  it  is  made 
thinks  so  little  of  it  as  to  turn  aside  to  discuss  a 
point  of  etiquette  in  connection  with  another 
woman. 

Seeing  that  her  accuser  was  silent  and  confused, 
Lydia  recovered  her  tongue  and  colour,  and  the 
equability  of  her  temper.  It  was,  therefore,  with 
some  raillery  that  she  continued  her  speech : 

"I  see  how  it  is,"  she  said  contemptuously,  "Di- 
ana has  called  you  into  her  councils  in  order  to  fix 
this  absurd  charge  on  to  me.  Afraid  to  come  her- 
self, she  sends  you  as  the  braver  person  of  the  part- 
nership. I  congratulate  you  on  your  errand,  Mr. 
Denzil." 

"You  can  laugh  as  much  as  you  like,  Mrs.  Vrain, 
but  the  matter  is  more  serious  than  you  suppose." 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  that  my  loving  stepdaughter  will 
make  it  as  serious  as  possible.  She  always  hated 
me." 

"Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Vrain,"  said  Lucian,  colour- 
ing with  annoyance,  "but  I  did  not  come  here  to 
hear  you  speak  ill  of  Miss  Vrain." 

"I  know  that !  She  sent  you  here  to  speak  ill  of 
me  and  do  ill  to  me.  Well,  so  you  and  she  accuse 
me  of  killing  Mark?  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  the 
evidence  you  can  bring  forward.  If  you  can  make 
your  charge  good  I  should  smile.  Oh,  I  guess 
so!" 


154  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Denzil  noticed  that  when  Mrs.  Vrain  became  ex- 
cited she  usually  spoke  plain  English,  without  the 
U.  S.  A.  accent,  but  on  growing  calmer,  and,  as  it 
were,  recollecting  herself,  she  adopted  the  Yankee 
twang  and  their  curious  style  of  expression  and  ejac- 
ulation. This  led  him  to  suspect  that  the  fair  Lydia 
was  not  a  born  daughter  of  the  Great  Republic, 
perhaps  not  even  a  naturalised  citizeness,  but  had 
assumed  such  nationality  as  one  attractive  to  society 
in  Europe  and  Great  Britain. 

He  wondered  what  her  past  really  was,  and  if 
she  and  her  father  were  the  doubtful  adventurers 
Diana  believed  them  to  be.  If  so,  it  might  happen 
that  Lydia  would  extricate  herself  out  of  her  pres- 
ent unpleasant  position  by  the  use  of  past  experi- 
ence. To  give  her  no  chance  of  such  dodging,  Lu- 
cian  rapidly  detailed  the  evidence  against  her  so 
that  she  would  be  hard  put  to  baffle  it.  But  in 
this  estimate  he  quite  underrated  Lydia's  nerve  and 
capability  of  fence,  let  alone  the  dexterity  with 
which  she  produced  a  satisfactory  reply  to  each  of 
his  questions. 

"We  will  begin  at  the  beginning,  Mrs.  Vrain," 
he  said  soberly,  "say  from  the  time  you  drove  your 
unfortunate  husband  out  of  his  own  house." 

"Now,  I  guess  that  wasn't  my  fault,"  explained 
Lydia.  "I  wasn't  in  love  with  old  man  Mark,  but 
I  liked  him  well  enough,  for  he  was  a  real  gentle- 
man; and  when  that  make-mischief  Diana,  who 
cocked  her  nose  at  me,  set  out  for  Australia,  we 
got  on  surprisingly  well.  Count  Ferruci  came  over 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  155 

to  stay,  as  much  at  Mark's  invitation  as  mine,  and 
I  didn't  pay  too  much  attention  to  him  anyhow." 
"Miss  Tyler  says  you  did !" 
"Sakes !"  cried  Mrs.  Vrain,  raising  her  eyebrows, 
"have  you  been  talking  to  that  old  stump?  Well, 
just  you  look  here,  Mr.  Denzil !  It  was  Bella 
Tyler  who  made  all  the  mischief.  She  thought 
Ercole  was  sweet  on  her,  and  when  she  found  out 
he  wasn't,  she  got  real  mad,  and  went  to  tell  Mark 
that  I  was  making  things  hum  the  wrong  way  with 
the  Count.  Of  course  Mark  had  a  row  with  him, 
and,  of  course,  I  got  riz — not  having  done  anything 
to  lie  low  for.  We  had  a  row  royal,  I  guess,  and 
the  end  of  it  was  that  Mark  cleared  out.  I  thought 
he  would  turn  up  again,  or  apply  for  a  divorce, 
though  he  hadn't  any  reason  to.  But  he  did  neither, 
and  remained  away  for  a  whole  year.  While  he 
was  away  I  got  quit  of  Ercole  pretty  smart,  I  can 
tell  you,  as  I  wanted  to  shut  up  that  old  maid's 
mouth.  I  never  knew  where  Mark  was,  or  guessed 
what  became  of  him,  until  I  saw  that  advertise- 
ment, and  putting  two  and  two  together  to  make 
four,  I  called  to  see  Mr.  Link,  where  I  found  you 
running  the  circus." 

"Why  did  you  faint  on  the  mention  of  the  sti- 
letto?" 

"I  told  you  the  reason,  and  Link  also." 

"Yes,  but  your  reason  was  too  weak  to " 

"Oh,  well,  you're  right  enough  there,"  inter- 
rupted Lydia,  smiling.  "All  that  talk  of  nerves  and 
grief  wasn't  true.  I  didn't  give  my  real  reason, 


156  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

but  I  will  now.  When  I  heard  that  the  old  man 
had  been  stabbed  by  a  stiletto  I  remembered  that 
the  one  on  the  library  wall  had  vanished  some  time 
before  the  Christmas  Eve  on  which  Mark  was 
killed.  So  you  may  guess  I  was  afraid." 

"For  yourself?" 

"I  guess  not;  it  wasn't  any  of  my  funeral.  I 
didn't  take  the  stiletto,  nor  did  I  know  who  had; 
but  I  was  afraid  you  might  think  Ferruci  took  it. 
The  stiletto  was  Italian,  and  the  Count  is  Italian, 
so  it  struck  me  you  might  put  two  and  two  together 
and  suspect  Ercole.  I  never  thought  you'd  fix  on 
me,"  concluded  Lydia,  with  a  scornful  toss  of  her 
head. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  fixed  on  you  both,"  said 
Lucian  composedly. 

"And  for  what  reason?  Why  should  I  and  the 
Count  murder  poor  Mark,  if  you  please?  He  was 
a  fool  and  a  bore,  but  I  wished  him  no  harm.  I 
was  sorry  as  any  one  when  I  heard  of  his  death, 
and  I  offered  a  good  reward  for  the  catching  of 
the  mean  skunk  that  killed  him.  If  I  had  done  so 
myself  I  wouldn't  have  been  such  a  fool  as  to 
sharpen  the  scent  of  the  hounds  on  my  own  trail." 

"You  were  in  town  on  Christmas  Eve?"  said 
Denzil,  not  choosing  to  explain  the  motives  he  be- 
lieved the  pair  had  for  committing  the  crime. 

"I  was.    What  of  that?" 

"You  were  in  Jersey  Street,  Pimlico,  on  that 
night." 

"I  was  never  in  Pimlico  in  my  life!"  declared 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  157 

Lydia  wrathfully,  "and,  as  I  said  before,  I  don't 
know  where  Jersey  Street  is." 

"Do  you  know  a  man  called  Wrent?" 

"I  never  heard  of  him !" 

"Yet  you  visited  him  in  Jersey  Street  on  Christ- 
mas Eve,  between  seven  and  eight  o'clock." 

"Did  I,  really?"  cried  Mrs.  Vrain.  ironically, 
"and  how  can  you  prove  I  did?" 

"By  that  cloak,"  said  Lucian,  pointing  to  where 
it  lay  on  a  chair.  "You  wore  that  cloak  and  a  vel- 
vet-spotted veil." 

"I  haven't  worn  a  veil  of  that  kind  for  over  a 
year,"  said  Lydia  decisively,  "though  I  admit  I  used 
to  wear  veils  of  that  sort.  You  can  ask  my  maid 
if  I  have  any  velvet-spotted  veils  in  my  wardrobe 
just  now.  As  to  the  cloak — I  never  wear  rabbit 
skins." 

"You  might  as  a  disguise." 

"Sakes  alive,  man,  what  should  I  want  with  a 
disguise?  I  tell  you  the  cloak  isn't  mine.  You 
can  soon  prove  that.  Find  out  who  made  it,  and  go 
and  ask  in  the  shop  if  I  bought  it." 

"How  can  I  find  out  who  made  it?"  asked  Den- 
zil,  who  was  beginning  to  feel  that  Lydia  was  one 
too  many  for  him. 

"Here !  I'll  show  you !"  said  Lydia,  and  picking 
up  the  cloak  she  turned  over  the  tab  at  the  neck, 
by  which  it  was  hung  up.  At  the  back  of  this  there 
was  a  small  piece  of  tape  with  printed  black  letters. 
"Baxter  &  Co.,  General  Drapers,  Bayswater,"  she 
read  out,  throwing  down  the  cloak  contemptuously. 


158  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"I  don't  go  to  a  London  suburb  for  my  frocks;  I 
get  them  in  Paris." 

"Then  you  are  sure  this  cloak  isn't  yours  ?"  asked 
Lucian,  much  perplexed. 

"No!  I  tell  you  it  isn't!  Go  and  ask  Baxter 
&  Co.  if  I  bought  it.  I'll  go  with  you,  if  you  like; 
or  better  still,"  cried  Mrs.  Vrain,  jumping  up  brisk- 
ly, "I  can  take  you  to  see  some  friends  with  whom 
I  stayed  on  Christmas  Eve.  The  whole  lot  will 
tell  you  that  I  was  with  them  at  Camden  Hill  all 
the  night." 

"What !    Can  you  prove  an  alibi  ?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  call  it,"  retorted  Lydia 
coolly,  "but  I  can  prove  pretty  slick  that  I  wasn't 
in  Pimlico." 

"But — Mrs.  Vrain — your  friend — Ferruci  was 
there!" 

"Was  he?  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  never  saw 
him  that  time  he  was  in  town.  But  if  you  think 
he  killed  Mark  you  are  wrong.  I  do  not  believe 
Ercole  would  kill  a  fly,  for  all  he's  an  Italian." 

"Do  you  think  he  took  that  stiletto?" 

"No,  I  don't!" 

"Then  who  did?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  even  know  when  it  was 
taken.  I  missed  it  after  Christmas,  because  that  old 
schoolma'am  told  me  it  was  gone." 

"Oldschoolma'am!" 

"Well,  Bella  Tyler,  if  you  like  that  better,"  re- 
torted Mrs.  Vrain.  "Come,  now,  Mr.  Denzil,  I'm 
not  going  to  let  you  go  away  without  proving  my 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  159 

— what  do  you  call  it? — alibi.  Come  with  me  right 
along  to  Camden  Hill." 

"I'll  come  just  to  satisfy  myself,"  said  Lucian, 
picking  up  the  cloak,  "but  I  am  beginning  to  feel 
that  it  is  unnecessary." 

"You  think  I  am  innocent?  Well,"  drawled 
Lydia,  as  Lucian  nodded,  "I  think  that's  real  sweet 
of  you.  I  mayn't  be  a  saint,  but  I'm  not  quite  the 
sinner  that  Diana  of  yours  makes  me  out." 

"Diana  of  mine,  Mrs.  Vrain?"  said  Lucian,  col- 
ouring. 

The  little  woman  laughed  at  his  blush. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  a  fool,  young  man.  I  see  how 
the  wind  blows !"  And  with  a  nod  she  vanished. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WHO  BOUGHT  THE  CLOAK? 

MRS.  VRAIN  sacrificed  the  vanity  of  a  lengthy 
toilette  to  a  natural  anxiety  to  set  herself  right  with 
Lucian,  and  appeared  shortly  in  a  ravishing  costume 
fresh  from  Paris.  Perhaps  by  arraying  herself  so 
smartly  she  wished  to  assure  Denzil  more  particu- 
larly that  she  was  a  lady  of  too  much  taste  to  buy 
rabbit-skin  cloaks  in  Bayswater :  or  perhaps — which 
was  more  probable — she  was  not  averse  to  ensnar- 
ing so  handsome  a  young  man  into  an  innocent  flir- 
tation. 

The  suspicion  she  entertained  of  Lucian's  love 
for  Diana  only  made  Lydia  the  more  eager  to  fas- 
cinate him  on  her  own  account.  A  conceit  of  her- 
self, a  hatred  of  her  stepdaughter,  and  a  desire  to 
wring  admiration  out  of  a  man  who  did  not  wish 
to  bestow  it.  These  were  the  reasons  which  led 
Mrs.  Vrain  to  be  particularly  agreeable  to  the  bar- 
rister. When  the  pair  were  ensconced  in  a  swift 
hansom,  and  rolling  rapidly  towards  Camden  Hill, 
she  began  at  once  to  prosecute  her  amiable  designs. 

"I  guess  you'll  not  mind  being  my  best  boy  for 
the  day,"  she  said,  with  a  coquettish  glance.  "You 

160 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  161 

can  -escort  me,  first  of  all.  to  the  Pegalls,  and  after- 
wards we  can  drive  to  Baxter  &  Co.'s  in  Bays- 
water,  so  that  you  can  assure  yourself  I  didn't  buy 
that  cloak." 

"I  am  much  obliged  for  the  trouble  you  are  tak- 
ing, Mrs.  Vrain,"  replied  the  young  man,  avoiding 
with  some  reserve  the  insinuating  glances  of  his 
pretty  companion.  "We  shall  do  as  you  suggest. 
Who  are  the  Pegalls,  may  I  ask?" 

"My  friends,  with  whom  I  stopped  on  Christmas 
Eve,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Vrain.  "A  real  good,  old, 
dull  English  family,  as  heavy  as  their  own  plum 
puddings.  Mrs.  Pegall's  a  widow  like  myself,  and 
I  daresay  she  buys  her  frocks  in  the  Bayswater 
stores.  She  has  two  daughters  who  look  like  bar- 
maids, and  ought  to  be,  only  they  ain't  smart 
enough.  We  had  a  real  Sunday  at  home  on  Christ- 
mas Eve,  Mr.  Denzil.  Whist  and  weak  tea  at 
eight,  negus  and  prayers  and  bed  at  ten.  Poppa 
wanted  to  teach  them  poker,  and  they  kicked  like 
mad  at  the  very  idea ;  but  that  was  when  he  visited 
them  before,  I  guess." 

"Not  the  kind  of  family  likely  to  suit  you,  I 
should  think,"  said  Lucian,  regarding  the  little  free- 
lance with  a  puzzled  air. 

"I  guess  not.  Lead's  a  feather  to  them  for 
weight.  But  it's  a  good  thing  to  have  respectable 
friends,  especially  in  this  slow  coach  of  an  old  coun- 
try, where  you  size  everybody  up  by  the  company 
they  keep."  t 

"Ah!"  said  Lucian  pointedly  and — it  must  be 


162  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

confessed — rather  rudely,  "so  you  have  found  the 
necessity  of  having  respectable  friends,  however 
dull?" 

"That's  a  fact,"  acknowledged  Mrs.  Vrain  can- 
didly. "I've  had  a  queer  sort  of  life  with  poppa — 
ups  and  downs,  and  flyings  over  the  moon,  I  guess." 

"You  are  not  American?"  said  Denzil  suddenly. 

"Sakes!    How  do  you  figure  that  out?" 

"Because  you  are  too  pronouncedly  Amurrican 
to  be  American." 

"That's  an  epigram  with  some  truth  in  it,"  re- 
plied Lydia  coolly.  "Oh,  I'm  as  much  a  U.  S.  A. 
article  as  anything  else.  We  hung  out  our  shingle 
in  Wyoming,  Wis.,  for  a  considerable  time,  and 
a  girl  who  tickets  herself  Yankee  this  side  flies  high. 
But  I  guess  I'm  not  going  to  give  you  my  history," 
concluded  Mrs.  Vrain  drily.  "I'm  not  a  Popey  nor 
you  a  confessor." 

"H'm !    You've  been  in  the  South  Seas,  I  see." 

"There's  no  telling.    How  do  you  know  ?" 

"The  natives  there  use  the  word  Popey  to  des- 
ignate a  Roman  Catholic." 

"You  are  as  smart  as  they  make  'em,  Mr.  Denzil. 
There's  no  flies  about  you ;  but  I'm  not  going  to  give 
myself  away.  Ask  poppa,  if  you  want  information. 
He's  that  simple  he'll  tell  you  all." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Vrain,  keep  your  own  secret;  it  is 
not  the  one  I  wish  to  discover.  By  the  way,  you 
say  your  father  was  at  Camden  Hill  on  Christmas 
Eve?" 

"I  didn't  say  so,  but  he  was,"  answered  Lydia 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  163 

quietly.  "He  was  not  very  well — pop  can't  stand 
these  English  winters — and  wrote  me  to  come  up. 
But  he  was  so  sick  that  he  left  the  Pegalls'  about 
six  o'clock." 

"That  was  the  letter  which  upset  you." 
"It  was.  I  see  old  Bella  Tyler  kept  her  eyes 
peeled.  I  got  the  letter  and  came  up  at  once.  I've 
only  got  one  parent  left,  and  he's  too  good  to  be 
shoved  away  in  a  box  underground  while  fools  live. 
But  here  we  are  at  the  Pegalls'.  I  hope  you'll 
like  the  kind  of  circus  they  run.  Campmeetings 
are  nothing  to  it." 

The  dwelling  of  the  respectable  family  alluded 
to  was  a  tolerably  sized  house  of  red  brick,  placed 
in  a  painfully  neat  garden,  and  shut  in  from  the 
high  road  by  a  tall  and  jealous  fence  of  green- 
painted  wood.  The  stout  widow  and  two  stout 
spinster  daughters,  who  made  up  the  inmates,  quite 
deserved  Mrs.  Vrain's  epithet  of  "heavy."  They 
were  aggressively  healthy,  with  red  cheeks,  black 
hair,  and  staring  black  eyes  devoid  of  expression; 
a  trio  of  Dutch  dolls  would  have  looked  more  intel- 
lectual. They  were  plainly  and  comfortably  dressed; 
the  drawing-room  was  plainly  and  comfortably  fur- 
nished; and  both  house  and  inmates  looked  thor- 
oughly respectable  and  eminently  dull.  What  such 
a  hawk  as  Mrs.  Vrain  was  doing  in  this  Philistine 
dove-cote,  Lucian  could  not  conjecture;  but  he 
admired  her  tact  in  making  friends  with  a  family 
whose  heavy  gentility  assisted  to  ballast  her  some- 
what light  reputation;  while  the  three  of  their 


1 64  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

brains  in  unison  could  not  comprehend  her  tricks, 
or  the  reasons  for  which  they  were  played. 

"At  all  events,  these  three  women  are  too  honest 
to  speak  anything  but  the  truth,"  thought  Lucian 
while  undergoing  the  ordeal  of  being  presented. 
"So  I'll  learn  for  certain  if  Mrs.  Vra'm  was  really 
here  on  Christmas  Eve." 

The  Misses  Pegall  and  their  lace-capped  mamma 
welcomed  Lucian  with  heavy  good  nature  and  much 
simpering,  for  they  also  had  an  eye  to  a  comely 
young  man ;  but  the  cunning  Lydia  they  kissed  and 
embraced,  and  called  "dear"  with  much  zeal.  Mrs. 
Vrain,  on  her  part,  darted  from  one  to  the  other 
like  a  bird,  pecking  the  red  apples  of  their  cheeks, 
and  cast  an  arch  glance  at  Lucian  to  see  if  he  ad- 
mired her  talent  for  manoeuvring.  Then  cake  and 
wine,  port  and  sherry,  were  produced  in  the  style 
of  early  Victorian  hospitality,  from  which  epoch 
Mrs.  Pegall  dated,  and  all  went  merry  as  a  mar- 
riage bell,  while  Lydia  laid  her  plans  to  have  her- 
self exculpated  in  Lucian's  eyes  without  being  in- 
culpated in  those  of  the  family. 

"We  have  just  come  up  from  our  place  in  Som- 
erset," explained  Mrs.  Pegall,  in  a  comfortable 
voice.  "The  girls  wanted  to  see  the  sights,  so  I 
just  said,  'we'll  go,  dears,  and  perhaps  we'll  get 
a  glimpse  of  the  dear  Queen.'  I'm  sure  she  has  no 
more  loyal  subjects  than  we  three." 

"Are  you  going  out  much  this  year,  dear  Mrs. 
Vrain?"  asked  Beatrice  Pegall,  the  elder  and  plain- 
er of  the  sisters." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  165 

"No,  deaf,"  replied  Lydia,  with  a  sigh,  putting 
a  dainty  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  "You  know 
what  I  have  lost." 

The  two  groaned,  and  Miss  Cecilia  Pegall,  who 
was  by  way  of  being  very  religious  in  a  Low  Church 
way,  remarked  that  "all  flesh  was  grass,"  to  which 
observation  her  excellent  mamma  rejoined :  "Very 
true,  dear,  very  true."  And  then  the  trio  sighed 
again,  and  shook  their  black  heads  like  so  many 
mandarins. 

"I  should  never  support  my  grief,"  continued 
Lydia,  still  tearful,  "if  it  was  not  that  I  have  at 
least  three  dear  friends.  Ah !  I  shall  never  forget 
that  happy  Christmas  Eve!" 

"Last  Christmas  Eve,  dear  Mrs.  Vrain?"  said 
Cecilia. 

"When  you  were  all  so  kind  and  good,"  sobbed 
Lydia,  with  a  glance  at  Lucian,  to  see  that  he  no- 
ticed the  confirmation.  "We  played  whist,  didn't 
we?" 

"Four  rubbers,"  groaned  Mrs.  Pegall,  "and  re- 
tired to  bed  at  ten  o'clock,  after  prayers  and  a  short 
hymn.  Quite  a  carol  that  hymn  was,  eh,  dears?" 

"And  your  poor  pa  was  so  bad  with  his  cough," 
said  Beatrice,  "I  hope  it  is  better.  He  went  away 
before  dinner,  too !  Do  say  your  pa  is  better !" 

"Yes,  dear,  much  better,"  said  Lydia,  and  con- 
sidering it  was  four  months  since  Christmas  Eve, 
Lucian  thought  it  was  time  Mr.  Clyne  recovered. 

"He  enjoyed  his  tea,  though,"  said  Cecilia,  "Mr. 
Clyne  always  says  there  is  no  tea  like  ours." 


166  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"And  no  evenings,"  cried  Lydia,  who  was  very 
glad  there  were  not.  "Poppa  and  I  are  coming 
soon  to  have  a  long  evening — to  play  whist  again." 

"But,  dear  Mrs.  Vrain,  you  are  not  going?" 

"I  must,  dears,"  with  a  kiss  all  round.  "I  have 
such  a  lot  to  do,  and  Mr.  Denzil  is  coming  with  me, 
as  poppa  wants  to  consult  him  about  some  law  busi- 
ness. He's  a  barrister,  you  know." 

"I  hope  Mr.  Denzil  will  come  and  see  us  again," 
said  Mrs.  Pegall,  shaking  hands  with  Lucian.  A 
fat,  puffy  hand  she  had,  and  damp. 

"Oh,  delighted!  delighted!"  said  Denzil  hur- 
riedly. 

"Cards  and  tea,  and  sensible  conversation,"  said 
Beatrice  seriously,  "no  more." 

"You  forget  prayers  at  ten,  dear,"  rejoined  Ce- 
cilia in  low  tones. 

"We  are  a  plain  family,  Mr.  Denzil.  You  must 
take  us  as  we  are." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Pegall,  I  will." 

"Good-bye,  dears,"  cried  Lydia  again,  and  with 
a  final  peck  all  round  she  skipped  out  and  into  the 
hansom,  followed  by  her  escort. 

"Damn!"  said  Mrs.  Vrain,  when  the  cab  drove 
away  in  the  direction  of  Bayswater.  "Oh,  don't 
look  so  shocked,  Mr.  Denzil.  I  assure-  you  I  am 
not  in  the  habit  of  swearing,  but  the  extreme  re- 
spectability of  the  Pegalls  always  makes  me  wish  to 
relieve  my  feelings  by  going  to  the  other  extreme. 
What  do  you  think  of  them  ?" 

"They  seem  very  good  people,  and  genuine." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  167 

"And  very  genteel  and  dull,"  retorted  Lydia. 
"Like  Washington,  they  can't  tell  a  lie  for  a  red 
cent ;  so  you  can  believe  I  was  there  with  poppa  on 
Christmas  Eve,  only  he  went  away,  and  I  stayed  all 
night." 

"Yes,  I  believe  it,  Mrs.  Vrain." 

"Then  I  couldn't  have  been  in  Jersey  Street  or 
Geneva  Square,  sticking  Mark  with  the  stiletto?" 

"No !  I  believe  you  to  be  innocent,"  said  Lucian 
gravely.  "In  fact,  I  really  don't  think  it  is  neces- 
sary to  find  out  about  this  cloak  at  Baxter  &  Co.'s. 
I  am  assured  you  did  not  buy  it." 

"I  guess  I  didn't,  Mr.  Denzil ;  but  you  want  to 
know  who  did,  and  so  do  I.  Well,  you  need  not 
open  your  eyes.  I'd  like  to  know  who  killed  Mark, 
also;  and  you  say  that  cloak  will  show  it?" 

"I  didn't  say  that;  but  the  cloak  may  identify 
the  woman  I  wrongfully  took  for  you.  She  may 
have  to  do  with  the  matter." 

Lydia  shook  her  pretty  head.  "Not  she.  Mark 
was  as  respectable  as  the  Pegall  gang;  there's  no 
woman  mixed  up  in  this  matter." 

"But  I  saw  the  shadow  of  a  woman  on  the  blind 
of  No.  13!" 

"You  don't  say !  In  Mark's  sitting-room  ?  Well, 
I  should  smile  to  know  he  was  human,  after  all.  He 
was  always  so  precious  stiff !" 

Something  in  Mrs.  Vrain's  light  talk  of  her  dead 
husband  jarred  on  the  feelings  of  Lucian,  and  in 
some  displeasure  he  held  his  peace.  In  no  wise 
abashed,  Lydia  feigned  to  take  no  notice  of  this 


1 68  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

tacit  reproof,  but  chatted  on  about  all  and  every- 
thing in  the  most  frivolous  manner.  Not  until  they 
had  entered  the  shop  of  Baxter  &  Co.  did  she  re- 
sume attention  to  business. 

"Here,"  she  said  to  the  smiling  shopwalker,  "I 
want  to  know  by  whom  this  cloak  was  sold,  and  to 
what  person." 

The  man  examined  the  cloak,  and  noted  a  private 
mark  on  it,  which  evidently  afforded  him  some  in- 
formation not  obtainable  by  the  general  public,  for 
he  guided  Lucian  and  his  companion  to  a  counter 
behind  which  stood  a  brisk  woman  with  sharp  eyes. 
In  her  turn  she  also  examined  the  cloak,  and  depart- 
ed to  refresh  her  memory  by  looking  at  some  ac- 
count book.  When  she  returned  it  was  to  intimate 
that  the  cloak  had  been  bought  by  a  man. 

"A  man !"  repeated  Lucian,  much  astonished. 
"What  was  he  like?" 

"A  dark  man,"  replied  the  brisk  shopwoman, 
"dark  hair,  dark  eyes,  and  a  dark  moustache.  I 
remember  him  well,  because  he  was  a  foreigner." 

"A  foreigner?"  repeated  Lydia  in  her  turn.  "A 
Frenchman?" 

"No,  madam — an  Italian.  He  told  me  as  much." 

"Sakes  alive!"  cried  Mrs.  Vrain.  "You  are 
right,  Mr.  Denzil.  It's  Ferruci  sure  enough!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    DEFENCE    OF    COUNT   FERRUCI 

"IT  is  quite  impossible!"  cried  Mrs.  Vrain  dis- 
tractedly. "I  can't  believe  it  nohow!" 

The  little  woman  was  back  again  in  her  own 
drawing-room,  talking  to  Lucian  about  the  discov- 
ery which  had  lately  been  made  regarding  Ferruci's 
purchase  of  the  cloak.  Mrs.  Vrain  having  proved 
her  own  innocence  by  the  evidence  of  the  Pegall 
family,  was  now  trying  to  persuade  both  herself 
and  Denzil  that  the  Count  could  not  be  possibly 
implicated  in  the  matter.  He  had  no  motive  to 
kill  Vrain,  she  said,  a  statement  with  which  Lucian 
at  once  disagreed. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Vrain,  he  had  two  mo- 
tives," said  the  barrister  quickly.  "In  the  first 
place,  he  was  in  love,  and  wished  to  marry  you ;  in 
the  second,  he  was  poor,  and  wanted  money.  By 
the  death  of  your  husband  he  hoped  to  gain  both." 

"He  has  gained  neither,  as  yet,"  replied  Lydia 
sharply.  "I  like  Ercole  well  enough,  and  at  one 
time  I  was  almost  engaged  to  him.  But  he  has  a 
nasty  temper  of  his  own,  Mr.  Denzil,  so  I  shunted 
him  pretty  smart  to  marry  Mark  Vrain.  I  wouldn't 

169 


170  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

marry  him  now  if  he  dumped  down  a  million  dol- 
lars at  my  feet  to-morrow.  Besides,  poppa  don't 
like  him  at  all.  I've  got  my  money,  and  I've  got 
my  freedom,  and  I  don't  fool  away  either  the  one 
or  the  other  on  that  Italian  dude !" 

"Is  the  Count  acquainted  with  these  sentiments?" 
asked  Lucian  drily. 

"I  guess  so,  Mr.  Denzil.  He  asked  me  to  marry 
him  two  months  after  Mark's  death,  and  I  just  up 
and  told  him  pretty  plain  how  the  cat  jumped." 

"In  plain  English,  you  refused  him  ?" 

"You  bet  I  did !"  cried  Lydia  vigorously.  "So 
you  see,  Mr.  Denzil,  he  could  not  have  killed 
Mark." 

"Why  not?  He  did  not  know  your  true  mind 
until  two  months  after  the  murder." 

"That's  a  fact,  anyhow,"  commented  Mrs. 
Vrain.  "But  what  the  mischief  made  him  buy  that 
rabbit-skin  cloak?" 

"I  expect  he  bought  it  for  the  woman  I  mistook 
for  you." 

"And  who  may  she  be?" 

"That  is  just  what  I  wish  to  find  out.  This 
woman  who  came  to  Jersey  Street  so  often  wore  this 
cloak;  therefore,  she  must  have  obtained  it  from 
the  Count.  I'll  make  him  tell  me  who  she  is,  and 
what  she  has  to  do  with  this  crime." 

"Do  you  think  she  has  anything  to  do  with  it?" 
said  Mrs.  Vrain  doubtfully. 

"I  am  certain.  It  must  have  been  her  shadow  I 
saw  on  the  blind." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  171 

"And  the  man's  shadow  was  the  Count's?"  ques- 
tioned Lydia. 

"I  think  so.  He  bought  the  cloak  for  the  woman, 
visited  the  man  Wrent  at  Jersey  Street,  and  was 
seen  by  the  servant  in  the  back  yard.  He  did  not 
act  thus  without  some  object,  Mrs.  Vrain.  you  may 
be  sure  of  that." 

"Sakes !"  said  Lydia,  with  a  weary  sigh.  "I  ain't 
sure  of  anything  save  that  my  head  is  buzzing  like 
a  sawmill.  Who  is  Wrent,  anyhow  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  An  old  man  with  white  beard 
and  a  skullcap  of  black  velvet." 

"Ugh!"  said  Mrs.  Vrain,  with  a  shiver.  "Mark 
used  to  wear  a  black  skullcap,  and  the  thought  of 
it  makes  me  freeze  up.  Sounds  like  a  judge  of 
your  courts  ordering  a  man  to  be  lynched.  Well, 
Mr.  Denzil,  it  seems  to  me  as  you'd  best  hustle 
Ercole.  If  he  knows  who  the  woman  is — and  he 
wouldn't  buy  cloaks  for  her  if  he  didn't — he'll  know 
who  this  Wrent  is.  I  guess  he  can  supply  all  in- 
formation." 

"Where  does  he  live?" 

"Number  40,  Marquis  Street,  St.  James's.  You 
go  and  look  him  up,  while  I  tell  poppa  what  a  mean 
white  he  is.  I  guess  poppa  won't  let  him  come  near 
me  again.  Pop's  an  honest  man,  though  he  ain't  no 
Washington." 

"Suppose  I  find  out  that  he  killed  your  hus- 
band?" asked  Lucian,  rising. 

"Then  you'd  best  lynch  him  right  away,"  re- 


172  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

plied  Lydia  without  hesitation.  "I  draw  the  line 
at  murder — some!" 

The  barrister  was  somewhat  disgusted  to  hear 
Mrs.  Vrain  so  coolly  devote  her  whilom  admirer  to 
a  shameful  death.  However,  he  knew  that  her 
heart  was  hard  and  her  nature  selfish;  so  there  was 
little  use  in  showing  any  outward  displeasure  at  her 
want  of  charity.  She  had  cleared  herself  from  sus- 
picion, and  evidently  cared  not  who  suffered,  so  long 
as  she  was  safe  and  well  spoken  of.  Moreover, 
Lucian  had  learned  all  he  wished  about  her  move- 
ments on  the  night  of  the  crime,  and  taking  a  hasty 
leave,  he  went  off  to  Marquis  Street  for  the  purpose 
of  bringing  Ferruci  to  book  for  his  share  in  the  ter- 
rible business.  However,  the  Count  proved  to  be 
from  home,  and  would  not  be  back,  so  the  servant 
said,  until  late  that  night. 

Denzil  therefore  left  a  message  that  he  would 
call  at  noon  the  next  day,  and  drove  from  St. 
James's  to  Kensington,  where  he  visited  Diana. 
Here  he  detailed  what  he  had  learned  and  done 
from  the  time  he  had  visited  Mrs.  Bensusan  up  to 
the  interview  with  Lydia.  Also  he  displayed  the 
cloak,  and  narrated  how  Mrs.  Vrain  had  cleared 
herself  of  its  purchase. 

To  all  this  Diana  listened  with  the  greatest  in- 
terest, and  when  Lucian  ended  she  looked  at  him 
for  some  moments  in  silence.  In  fact,  Diana,  with 
all  her  wit  and  common  sense,  did  not  know  how 
to  regard  the  present  position  of  affairs. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  173 

"Well, -Miss  Vrain,"  said  Lucian,  seeing  that  she 
did  not  speak,  "what  do  you  think  of  it  all?" 

"Mrs.  Vrain  appears  to  be  innocent,"  said  Diana 
in  a  low  voice. 

"Assuredly  she  is !  The  evidence  of  the  Pegall 
family — given  in  all  innocence — proves  that  she 
could  not  have  been  in  Geneva  Square  or  in  Jersey 
Street  on  Christmas  Eve." 

"Then  we  come  back  to  my  original  belief,  Mr. 
Denzil.  Lydia  did  not  commit  the  crime  herself, 
but  employed  Ferruci  to  do  so." 

"No,"  replied  Denzil  decidedly.  "Whether  the 
Italian  is  guilty  or  not,  Mrs.  Vrain  knows  nothing 
about  it.  If  she  were  cognisant  of  his  guilt  she 
would  not  have  risked  going  with  me  to  Baxter  & 
Co.,  and  letting  me  discover  that  Ferruci  had 
bought  the  cloak.  Nor  would  she  so  lightly  sur- 
render a  possible  accomplice  as  she  has  done  Fer- 
ruci. Whatever  can  be  said  of  Mrs.  Vrain's  con- 
duct— and  I  admit  that  it  is  far  from  perfect — 
yet  I  must  say  that  she  appears,  by  the  strongest 
evidence,  to  be  totally  innocent  and  ignorant.  She 
knows  no  more  about  the  matter  than  her  father 
does." 

"Well,"  said  Diana,  unwilling  to  grant  her  step- 
mother too  much  grace,  "we  must  give  her  the  bene- 
fit of  the  doubt.  What  about  Ferruci  ?" 

"So  far  as  I  can  see,  Ferruci  is  guilty,"  replied 
Lucian.  "To  clear  himself  he  will  have  to  give 
the  same  proof  as  Mrs.  Vrain.  Firstly,  he  will 
Have  to  show  that  he  was  not  in  Jersey  Street  on 


174  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Christmas  Eve ;  secondly,  he  will  have  to  prove  that 
he  did  not  buy  the  cloak.  But  in  the  face  of  the 
servant's  evidence,  and  the  statement  of  the  shop- 
woman,  he  will  find  it  difficult  to  clear  himself. 
Yet,"  added  Lucian,  remembering  his  failure  with 
Lydia,  "it  is  always  possible  that  he  may  do  so." 

"It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Denzil,  that  your  only 
chance  of  getting  at  the  truth  is  to  see  the  Italian." 

"I  think  so  myself.    I  will  see  him  to-morrow." 

"Will  you  take  Mr.  Link  with  you  ?" 

"No,  Miss  Vrain.  As  I  have  found  out  so  much 
without  Link,  I  may  as  well  proceed  in  the  matter 
until  his  professional  services  are  required  to  arrest 
Count  Ferruci.  By  the  way,  I  have  never  seen 
that  gentleman.  Can  you  describe  his  appearance 
tome?" 

"Oh,  as  far  as  looks  go  there  is  no  fault  to  be 
found  with  him,"  answered  Diana.  "He  is  a  typi- 
cal Italian,  tall,  slender,  and  olive  complexioned. 
He  speaks  English  very  well,  indeed,  and  appears 
to  be  possessed  of  considerable  education.  Certain- 
ly, to  look  at  him,  and  to  speak  with  him,  you  would 
not  think  he  was  a  villain  likely  to  murder  a  de- 
fenceless old  man.  But  if  he  did  not  kill  my  poor 
father,  I  know  not  who  did." 

"I'll  call  on  him  to-morrow  at  noon,"  said  Lu- 
cian, "and  later  on  I  shall  come  here  to  tell  you  what 
has  passed  between  us." 

This  remark  brought  the  business  between  them 
to  a  close,  but  Lucian  would  fain  have  lingered  to 
engage  Diana  in  lighter  conversation.  Miss  Vrain, 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  175 

however,  was  too  much  disturbed  by  the  news  he 
had  brought  her  to  Indulge  in  frivolous  talk.  Her 
mind,  busied  with  recollections  of  her  deceased 
father,  and  anxiously  seeking  some  means  whereby 
to  avenge  his  death,  was  ill  attuned  to  encourage 
at  the  moment  the  aspirations  which  she  knew 
Lucian  entertained. 

The  barrister,  therefore,  sighed  and  hinted  in 
vain.  His  Dulcinea  would  have  none  of  him  or 
his  courting,  and  he  was  compelled  to  retire,  as 
disconsolate  a  lover  as  could  be  seen.  To  slightly 
alter  the  saying  of  Shakespeare,  "the  course  of  true 
love  never  does  run  smooth,"  but  there  were  surely 
an  unusual  number  of  obstacles  in  the  current  of 
Denzil's  desires.  But  as  he  consoled  himself  with 
reflecting  that  the  greater  the  prize  the  harder  it 
is  to  win,  so  it  behooved  him  to  do  his  devoir  like 
a  true  knight. 

The  next  day,  at  noon,  Lucian,  armed  for  the 
encounter  with  the  evidence  of  Rhoda  and  of  the 
cloak,  presented  himself  at  the  rooms  which  Count 
Ferruci  temporarily  inhabited  in  Marquis  Street. 
He  not  only  found  the  Italian  ready  to  receive  him, 
but  in  full  possession  of  the  adventure  of  the  cloak, 
which,  as  he  admitted,  he  had  learned  from  Lydia 
the  previous  evening.  Also,  Count  Ferruci  was 
extremely  indignant,  and  informed  Lucian  that  he 
was  easily  able  to  clear  himself  of  the  suspicion. 
While  he  raged  on  in  his  fiery  Italian  way,  Denzil, 
who  saw  no  chance  of  staying  the  torrent  of  words, 
examined  him  at  his  leisure. 


176  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Ercole  Ferruci  was,  as  Diana  had  said,  a  singu- 
larly handsome  man  of  thirty-five.  He  was  dark, 
slender,  and  tall,  with  dark,  flashing  eyes,  a  heavy 
black  moustache,  and  an  alert  military  look  about 
him  which  showed  that  he  had  served  in  the  army. 
The  above  description  savours  a  trifle  of  the  im- 
possible hero  of  a  young  lady's  dream;  and,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  Ferruci  was  not  unlike  that  ideal 
personage.  He  had  all  the  looks  and  graces  which 
women  admire,  and  seemed  honest  and  fiery  enough 
in  a  manly  way — the  last  person,  as  Lucian  thought, 
to  gain  his  aims  by  underhand  ways,  or  to  kill  a 
helpless  old  man.  But  Lucian,  legally  experienced 
in  human  frailty,  was  not  to  be  put  off  with  voluble 
conversation  and  outward  graces.  He  wished  for 
proofs  of  innocence,  and  these  he  tried  to  obtain 
as  soon  as  Ferruci  drew  breath  in  his  fiery  harangue. 

"If  you  are  innocent,  Count,"  said  Lucian,  in 
reply  to  the  fluent,  incorrect  English  of  the  Italian, 
"appearances  are  against  you.  However,  you  can 
prove  yourself  innocent,  if  you  will." 

"Sir!"  cried  Ferruci,  "is  not  my  word  good?" 

"Not  good  enough  for  an  English  court,"  replied 
Lucian  coldly.  "You  say  you  were  not  in  Jersey 
Street  on  Christmas  Eve.  Who  can  prove  that  ?" 

"My  friend — my  dear  friend,  Dr.  Jorce  of 
Hampstead,  sir.  I  was  with  him;  oh,  yes,  sir,  he 
will  tell  you  so." 

"Very  good !  I  hope  his  evidence  will  clear  you," 
replied  the  more  phlegmatic  Englishman.  "And 
this  cloak?" 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  177 

"I  never  bought  the  cloak!  I  saw  it  not  be- 
fore!" 

"Then  come  with  me  to  the  shop  in  Bayswater, 
and  hear  what  the  girl  who  sold  it  says." 

"I  will  come  at  once!"  cried  Ferruci  hastily, 
catching  up  his  cane  and  hat.  "Come,  then,  my 
friend !  Come !  What  does  the  woman  say?" 

"That  she  sold  the  cloak  to  a  tall  man — to  a 
dark  man  with  a  moustache,  and  one  who  told  her 
he  was  Italian." 

"Bah !"  retorted  the  Count,  as  they  hailed  a  han- 
som. "Is  all  that  she  can  say?  Why,  all  we  Ital- 
ians are  supposed  to  be  tall  and  dark,  and  wear 
moustaches.  Your  common  people  in  England  nev- 
er fancy  one  of  us  can  be  fair." 

"You  are  not  fair,"  replied  Lucian  drily,  "and 
your  looks  correspond  to  the  description." 

"True  !  Oh,  yes,  sir !  But  that  description  might 
describe  a  dozen  of  my  countrymen.  And,  Mr. 
Denzil,"  added  the  Count,  laughing,  "I  do  not  go 
round  about  saying  to  common  people  that  I  am 
an  Italian.  It  is  not  my  custom  to  explain." 

Lucian  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  no  more 
until  they  entered  the  shop  in  Bayswater.  As  he 
knew  from  the  previous  visit  where  the  saleswoman 
was  located,  he  led  the  Count  rapidly  to  the  place. 
The  girl  was  there,  as  brisk  and  businesslike  as  ever. 
She  looked  up  as  they  approached,  and  came  for- 
ward to  serve  them,  with  a  swift  glance  at  both. 

"I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you  again,"  said  Lucian 
ceremoniously,  "but  you  told  me  yesterday  that  you 


i78  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

sold  a  blue  cloak,  lined  with  rabbit  skin,  to  an  Ital- 
ian gentleman,  and " 

"And  am  I  the  gentleman?"  interrupted  Ferruci. 
"Did  I  buy  a  cloak?" 

"No,"  replied  the  shopwoman,  after  a  sharp 
glance.  "This  is  not  the  gentleman  who  bought  the 
cloak." 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  NEW  DEVELOPMENT 

"You  see,  Mr.  Denzil,"  said  Ferruci,  turning 
triumphantly  to  Lucian,  "I  did  not  buy  this  cloak; 
I  am  not  the  Italian  this  lady  speaks  of." 

Lucian  was  extremely  astonished  at  this  unexpect- 
ed testimony  in  favour  of  the  Count,  and  questioned 
the  shopwoman  sharply.  "Are  you  certain  of  what 
you  say?"  he  asked,  looking  at  her  intently. 

"Yes,  I  am,  sir,"  replied  the  girl  stiffly,  as  though 
she  did  not  like  her  word  doubted.  "The  gentle- 
man who  bought  the  cloak  was  not  so  tall  as  this 
one,  nor  did  he  speak  English  well.  I  had  great 
difficulty  in  learning  what  he  wanted." 

"But  you  said  that  he  was  dark,  with  a  mous- 
ta  che — and ' ' 

"I  said  all  that,  sir;  but  this  is  not  the  gentle- 
man." 

"Could  you  swear  to  it?"  said  Lucian,  more  cha- 
grined than  he  liked  to  show  to  the  victorious 
Ferruci. 

"If  it  is  necessary,  I  could,  sir,"  said  the  shop- 
woman,  with  the  greatest  confidence.  And  after  so 
direct  a  reply,  and  such  certain  evidence,  Denzil  had 

179 


i8o  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

nothing  to  do  but  retire  from  an  awkward  position 
as  gracefully  as  he  could. 

"And  now,  sir,"  said  Ferruci,  who  had  followed 
him  out  of  the  shop,  "you  come  with  me,  please." 

"Where  to?"  asked  Lucian  gloomily. 

"To  my  friend — to  my  rooms.  I  have  shown  I 
did  not  buy  the  cloak  you  speak  of.  Now  we  must 
find  my  friend,  Dr.  Jorce,  to  tell  you  I  was  not 
at  Jersey  Street  when  you  say." 

"Is  Dr.  Jorce  at  your  rooms?" 

"I  asked  him  to  call  about  this  time,"  said  Fer- 
ruci, glancing  at  his  watch.  "When  Mrs.  Vrain 
speak  to  me  of  what  you  say  I  wish  to  defend  my- 
self, so  I  write  last  night  to  my  friend  to  talk  with 
you  this  day.  I  get  his  telegram  saying  he  would 
come  at  two  hours." 

Lucian  glanced  in  his  turn  at  his  watch.  "Half- 
past  one,"  he  said,  beckoning  to  a  cab.  "Very  good, 
Count,  we  will  just  have  time  to  get  back  to  your 
place." 

"And  what  you  think  now?"  said  Ferruci,  with  a 
malicious  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"I  do  not  know  what  to  think,"  replied  Lucian 
dismally,  "save  that  it  is  a  strange  coincidence  that 
another  Italian  should  have  bought  the  cloak." 

The  Count  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  they  got 
into  the  hansom,  but  he  did  not  speak  until  they 
were  well  on  their  way  back  to  Marquis  Street.  He 
then  looked  thoughtfully  at  his  companion.  "I  do 
not  believe  coincidence,"  he  said  abruptly,  "but  in 
design." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  181 

"What  da  you  mean,  Count?  I  do  not  quite 
follow  you." 

"Some  one  who  knows  I  love  Mrs.  Vrain  wish  to 
injure  me,"  said  the  Italian  rapidly,  "and  so  make 
theirself  like  me  to  buy  that  cloak.  Ah!  you  see? 
But  he  could  not  make  himself  as  tall  as  me.  Oh, 
yes,  sir,  I  am  sure  it  is  so." 

"Do  you  know  any  one  who  would  disguise  him- 
self so  as  to  implicate  you  in  the  murder?" 

"No."  Ferruci  shook  his  head.  "I  cannot  think 
of  one  man — not  one." 

"Do  you  know  a  man  called  Wrent?"  asked 
Lucian  abruptly. 

"I  do  not,  Mr.  Denzil,"  said  Ferruci  at  once. 
"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Well,  I  thought  he  might  be  the  man  to  dis- 
guise himself.  But  no,"  added  Lucian,  remember- 
ing Rhoda's  account  of  Wrent's  white  hair  and 
beard,  "it  cannot  be  him.  He  would  not  sacrifice 
his  beard  to  carry  out  the  plan ;  in  fact  he  could  not 
without  attracting  Rhoda's  attention." 

"Rhoda!  Wrent!  What  strange  names  you 
talk  of!"  cried  Ferruci  vivaciously. 

"No  stranger  than  that  of  your  friend  Jorce." 

Ferruci  laughed.  "Oh,  he  is  altogether  most 
strange.  You  see." 

It  was  as  the  Italian  said.  Dr.  Jorce — who  was 
waiting  for  them  in  the  Count's  room — proved  to 
be  a  small,  dried-up  atom  of  a  man,  who  looked  as 
though  all  the  colour  had  been  bleached  out  of  him. 
At  first  sight  he  was  more  like  a  monkey  than  a 


182  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

man,  owing  to  his  slight,  queer  figure  and  agile 
movements ;  but  a  closer  examination  revealed  that 
he  had  a  clever  face,  and  a  pair  of  most  remarkable 
eyes.  These  were  of  a  steel-grey  hue,  with  an  ex- 
traordinary intensity  of  gaze;  and  when  he  fixed 
them  on  Lucian  at  the  moment  of  introduction  the 
young  barrister  felt  as  though  he  were  being  mes- 
merised. 

For  the  rest,  Jorce  was  dressed  sombrely  in  black 
cloth,  was  extremely  voluble  and  vivacious,  and  im- 
pressed Lucian  with  the  idea  that  he  was  less  a  fel- 
low mortal  than  a  changeling  from  fairyland.  Quite 
an  exceptional  man  was  Dr.  Jorce,  and,  as  the 
Italian  said,  "most  strange." 

"My  good  friend,"  said  Ferruci,  laying  his  stern 
hand  on  the  shoulder  of  this  oddity,  "this  gentleman 
wishes  you  to  decide  a— what  do  you  say? — bet?" 

"A  bet!"  cried  the  little  doctor  in  a  deep  bass 
voice,  but  with  some  indignation.  "Do  I  under- 
stand, Count,  that  you  have  brought  me  all  the  way 
from  my  place  in  Hampstead  to  decide  a  bet?" 

"Ah",  but  sir,  it  is  a  bet  most  important,"  said 
Ferruci,  with  a  smile.  "This  Mr.  Denzil  declares 
that  he  saw  me  in  Pirn — Pirn — what?" 

"In  Pimlico,"  said  Lucian,  seeing  that  Ferruci 
could  not  pronounce  the  word.  "I  say  that  the 
Count  was  in  Pimlico  on  Christmas  Eve." 

"You  are  wrong,  sir,"  said  Jorce,  with  a  wave 
of  his  skinny  hand.  "My  friend,  Count  Ferruci, 
was  in  my  house  at  Hampstead  on  that  evening." 

"Was  he?"  remarked  Lucian,  astonished  at  this 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  183 

confident  assertion.  "And  at  what  time  did  he 
leave?" 

"He  did  not  leave  till  next  morning.  My  friend 
the  Count  remained  under  my  roof  all  night,  and 
left  at  twelve  o'clock  on  Christmas  morning." 

"So  you  see,"  said  Ferruci  airily  to  Lucian,  "that 
I  could  not  have  done  what  you  think,  as  that  was 
done — by  what  you  said — between  eleven  and 
twelve  on  that  night." 

"Was  the  Count  with  you  at  ten  o'clock  on  that 
evening?"  asked  Denzil. 

"Certainly  he  was;  so  you  have  lost  your  bet, 
Mr.  Denzil.  Sorry  to  bring  you  such  bad  fortune, 
but  truth  is  truth,  you  know." 

"Would  you  repeat  this  statement,  if  I  wished?" 

"Why  not?  Call  on  me  at  any  time.  'The 
Haven,  Hampstead' ;  that  will  always  find  me." 

"Ah,  but  I  do  not  think  it  will  be  necessary  for 
Mr.  Denzil  to  call  on  you,  sir,"  interposed  the 
Count  rapidly.  "You  can  always  come  to  me.  Well, 
Mr.  Denzil,  are  you  satisfied?" 

"I  am,"  replied  Lucian.  "I  have  lost  my  bet, 
Count,  and  I  apologise.  Good-day,  Dr.  Jorce,  and 
thank  you.  Count  Ferruci,  I  wish  you  good-bye." 

"Not  even  au  revoir?"  said  Ferruci  mockingly. 

"That  depends  upon  the  future,"  replied  Lucian 
coolly,  and  forthwith  went  away  in  low  spirits  at 
the  downfall  of  his  hopes.  Far  from  revealing  the 
mystery  of  Vrain's  death,  his  late  attempts  to  solve 
it  had  resulted  in  utter  failure.  Lydia  had  cleared 
herself;  Ferruci  had  proved  himself  innocent;  and 


1 84  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Lucian  could  not  make  up  his  mind  what  was  now 
to  be  done. 

In  this  dilemma  he  sought  out  Diana,  as,  know- 
ing from  experience  that  where  a  man's  logic  ends 
a  woman's  instinct  begins,  he  thought  she  might 
suggest  some  way  out  of  the  difficulty.    On  arriving 
at  the  Royal  John  Hotel  he  found  that  Diana  was 
waiting  for  him  with  great  impatience ;  and  hardly 
giving  herself  time  to  greet  him,  she  asked  how 
he  had  fared  in  his  interview  with  Count  Ferruci. 
"Has  that  man  been  arrested,  Mr.  Denzil?" 
"No,  Miss  Vrain.     I  regret  to  say  that  he  has 
not  been  arrested.     To  speak  plainly,  he  has,  so 
far  as  I  can  see,  proved  himself  innocent." 
"Innocent!    And  the  evidence  against  him?" 
"Is  utterly  useless.     I  brought  him  face  to  face 
with  the  woman  who  sold  the  cloak,  and  she  denies 
that  Ferruci  bought  it." 

"But  she  said  the  buyer  was  an  Italian." 
"She  did,  and  dark,  with  a  moustache.    All  the 
same,  she  did  not  recognise  the  Count.     She  says 
the  buyer  was  not  so  tall,  and  spoke  worse  English." 
"Ferruci  could  make  his  English  bad  if  he  liked." 
"Probably;  but  he  could  not  make  his  stature 
shorter.     No,  Miss  Vrain,  I  am  afraid  that  our 
Italian  friend,  in  spite  of  the  evidence  against  him, 
did  not  buy  the  cloak.    That  he  resembles  the  pur- 
chaser in  looks  and  nationality  is  either  a  coinci- 
dence or " 

"Or  what?"  seeing  that  Lucian  hesitated. 
"Or  design,"  finished  the  barrister.     "And,  in- 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  185 

deed,  the  Count  himself  is  of  this  opinion.  He  be- 
lieves that  some  one  who  wished  to  get  him  into 
trouble  personated  him." 

"Has  he  any  suspicions  as  to  whom  the  person 
maybe?" 

"He  says  not,  and  I  believe  him;  for  if  he  did 
suspect  any  particular  individual  he  certainly  would 
gain  nothing  by  concealment  of  the  fact." 

"H'm  !"  said  Diana  thoughtfully,  "so  that  denial 
of  the  saleswoman  disposes  of  the  cloak's  evidence. 
What  about  the  Count's  presence  in  Jersey  Street  on 
Christmas  Eve?" 

"He  was  not  there !" 

"But  Rhoda,  the  servant,  saw  him  both  in  the 
house  and  in  the  back  yard !" 

"She  saw  a  dark  man,  with  a  moustache,  but 
she  could  not  say  that  he  was  a  foreigner.  She  does 
not  know  Ferruci,  remember.  The  man  she  saw 
must  have  been  the  same  as  the  purchaser  of  the 
cloak." 

"Where  does  Ferruci  say  he  was?" 

"At  Hampstead,  visiting  a  friend." 

"Oh!    And  what  does  the  friend  say?" 

"He  declares  that  the  Count  was  with  him  on 
Christmas  Eve  and  stayed  all  night." 

"That  is  very  convenient  evidence  for  the  Count, 
Mr.  Denzil.  Who  is  this  accommodating  friend?" 

"A  doctor  called  Jorce." 

"Can  his  word  be  trusted?" 

"So  far  as  I  can  judge  from  his  looks  and  a  short 
acquaintance,  I  should  say  so." 


186  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"It  was  half-past  eight  when  the  servant  saw 
the  dark  man  run  out  of  the  yard?" 

"Yes!" 

"And  at  half-past  eight  Ferruci  was  at  Hamp- 
stead  in  the  house  of  Dr.  Jorce?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  Lucian,  remembering 
that  he  had  asked  Jorce  the  question  rather  gener- 
ally than  particularly,  "but  the  doctor  declared  that 
Ferruci  was  with  him  at  ten  o'clock  on  that  evening, 
and  did  not  leave  him  until  next  morning;  so  as 
your  father  was  killed  between  eleven  and  twelve, 
Ferruci  must  be  innocent." 

"It  would  seem  so,  if  this  doctor  is  to  be  be- 
lieved," muttered  Diana  reflectively,  "but  judging 
by  what  you  have  told  me,  there  is  nothing  to  show 
that  Ferruci  was  not  in  Pimlico  at  eight-thirty,  and 
was  not  the  man  whom  the  servant  saw." 

"Well,  certainly  he  could  get  from  Pimlico  to 
Hampstead  in  an  hour  and  a  half.  However,  the 
main  point  about  all  this  evidence  is,  that  neither 
Ferruci  nor  Lydia  Vrain  killed  your  father." 

"No!  no!  that  seems  clear.  Still!  still!  they 
know  about  it.  Oh,  I  am  sure  of  it.  It  must  have 
been  Ferruci  who  was  in  Pimlico  on  that  night. 
If  so,  he  knows  who  Wrent  is,  and  why  he  stayed 
in  Jersey  Street." 

"Perhaps,  although  he  denies  ever  hearing  the 
name  of  Wrent.  But  I  would  not  be  surprised  if 
the  man  who  could  solve  the  mystery  is " 

"Who?— who?" 

"Doctor  Jorce  himselt.    I  feel  sure  of  it." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

TWO  MONTHS  PASS 

UNWILLING  to  give  up  prosecuting  the  Vrain 
case  while  the  slightest  hope  remained  of  solving 
its  mystery,  Lucian  sought  out  Link,  the  detective, 
and  detailed  all  the  evidence  he  had  collected  since 
the  constituted  authorities  had  abandoned  the  mat- 
ter. Although  Mrs.  Vrain  and  Ferruci  had  excul- 
pated themselves  entirely,  Denzil  thought  that 
Link,  with  his  professional  distrust  and  trained 
sense  of  ferreting  out  secrets,  might  discern  better 
than  himself  whether  such  exculpations  were  war- 
ranted by  circumstances. 

Link  heard  all  that  Denzil  had  to  tell  him  with 
outward  indifference  and  inward  surprise;  for  while 
unwilling,  through  jealousy  of  an  amateur,  to  flatter 
the  barrister  by  a  visible  compliment,  yet  he  silently 
admitted  that  Denzil  had  made  his  discoveries  and 
profited  by  them  with  much  acuteness.  What  an- 
noyed him,  however,  was  that  the  young  man  had 
pushed  his  inquiries  to  the  uttermost  limit;  and  that 
there  was  no  chance  of  any  glory  accruing  to  him- 
self by  prosecuting  them  further.  Still,  on  the  pos- 
sibility that  something  might  come  of  it,  he  went 

187 


1 88  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

over  the  ground  already  traversed  by  the  amateur 
detective. 

"You  should  have  told  me  of  your  intentions 
when  Miss  Vrain  spoke  to  you  in  the  first  instance," 
he  said  to  Lucian  by  way  of  rebuke.  "As  it  is,  you 
have  confused  the  clues  so  much  that  I  do  not  know 
which  one  to  take." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  pursued  each  clue  un- 
til fate  or  circumstance  clipped  it  short,"  retorted 
Lucian,  nettled  by  this  injustice.  "Mrs.  Vrain  has 
defended  herself  successfully,  much  in  the  same  way 
as  Count  Ferruci  has  done.  Your  only  chance  of 
getting  at  the  truth  lies  in  discovering  Wrent ;  and 
unless  Rhoda  helps  you  there,  I  do  not  see  how  you 
can  trace  the  man." 

"I  am  of  a  different  opinion,"  said  Link,  lying 
freely  to  conceal  his  doubts  of  success  in  the  matter. 
"As  you  have  failed  through  lack  of  experience,  I 
shall  attempt  to  unravel  this  skein." 

"You  attempted  to  do  so  before,  and  gave  it 
up  because  of  the  tangle,"  said  Lucian  with  quiet 
irony.  "And  unless  you  discover  more  than  I  have 
done,  you  will  dismiss  the  matter  again  as  impos- 
sible. So  far  as  I  can  see,  the  mystery  of  Vrain's 
death  is  more  of  a  mystery  than  ever,  and  will  never 
be  solved." 

"I'll  make  one  last  attempt  to  unriddle  it,  how- 
ever," answered  Link,  with  a  confidence  he  was 
far  from  feeling,  "but,  of  course — not  being  one  of 
your  impossible  detectives  of  fiction — I  may  fail." 

"You  are  certain  to^fail,"  said  Lucian  decisively, 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  189 

and  with  this  disheartening  prophecy  he  left  Link 
to  his  task  of — apparently — spinning  ropes  of  sand. 

Whether  it  was  that  Link  was  so  doubtful  of  the 
result  as  to  extend  little  energy  in  the  search,  or 
whether  he  really  found  the  task  impossible  of  ac- 
complishment, it  is  difficult  to  say,  but  assuredly  he 
failed  as  completely  as  Lucian  predicted.  With 
outward  zeal  he  set  to  work;  interviewed  Lydia  and 
the  Italian,  to  make  certain  that  their  defence  was 
genuine;  examined  the  Pegall  family,  who  were 
dreadfully  alarmed  by  their  respectability  being  in- 
truded upon  by  a  common  detective,  and  obtained 
a  fresh  denial  from  Baxter  &  Co.'s  saleswoman  that 
Ferruci  was  the  purchaser  of  the  cloak.  Also  he 
cross-questioned  Mrs.  Bensusan  and  her  sharp 
handmaid  in  the  most  exhaustive  manner,  and  did 
his  best  to  trace  out  the  mysterious  Wrent  who  had 
so  much  to  do  with  the  matter.  He  even  called 
on  Dr.  Jorce  at  Hampstead,  to  satisfy  himself  as  to 
the  actual  time  of  Ferruci's  arrival  in  that  neigh- 
bourhood on  Christmas  Eve.  But  here  he  received 
a  check,  for  Jorce  had  gone  abroad  on  his  annual 
holiday,  and  was  not  expected  back  for  a  month. 

In  fact,  Link  did  all  that  a  man  could  do  to  arrive 
at  the  truth,  only  to  find  himself,  at  the  end  of 
his  labours,  in  the  same  position  as  Lucian  had 
been.  Disgusted  at  this  result,  he  threw  up  his 
brief,  and  called  upon  Diana  and  Denzil,  with 
whom  he  had  previously  made  an  appointment,  to 
notify  them  of  his  inability  to  bring  the  matter  to 
a  satisfactory  conclusion. 


190  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"There  is  not  the  slightest  chance  of  finding  the 
assassin  of  Mr.  Vrain,"  said  Link,  after  he  had 
set  forth  at  length  his  late  failures.  "The  more  I 
go  into  the  matter  the  more  I  see  it." 

"Yet  you  were  so  confident  of  doing  more  than 
I,"  said  Lucian  quietly. 

Link  turned  sulkily,  after  the  fashion  of  a  bad 
loser. 

"I  did  my  best,"  he  retorted  gloomily.  "No 
man  can  do  more.  Some  crimes  are  beyond  the 
power  of  the  law  to  punish  for  sheer  lack  of  proof. 
This  is  one  of  them;  and,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  this 
unknown  assassin  will  be  punished  on  Judgment 
Day-;— not  before." 

"Then  you  don't  think  that  Signer  Ferruci  is 
guilty?"  said  Diana. 

"No.  He  has  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  mat- 
ter; nor  has  Mrs.  Vrain  brought  about  the  death 
in  any  way." 

"You  cannot  say  who  killed  my  father?" 

"Not  for  certain,  but  I  suspect  Wrent." 

"Then  why  not  find  Wrent?"  asked  Diana 
bluntly. 

"He  has  hidden  his  trail  too  well,"  began  Link, 
"and— and " 

"And  if  you  did  find  him,"  finished  Denzil  cool- 
ly, "he  might  prove  himself  guiltless,  after  the 
fashion  of  Mrs.  Vrain  and  Ferruci." 

"He  might,  sir;  there  is  no  knowing.  But  since 
you  think  I  have  done  so  little,  Mr.  Denzil,  let  me 
ask  you  who  it  is  you  suspect?" 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  191 

"Dr.  Joyce  of  Hampstead." 

"Pooh !  pooh !"  cried  Link,  with  contempt.  "He 
didn't  kill  the  man — how  could  he,  seeing  he  was 
at  Hampstead  on  that  Christmas  Eve  midnight,  as 
I  found  out  from  his  servants?" 

"I  don't  suspect  him  of  actually  striking  the 
blow,"  replied  Lucian,  "but  I  believe  he  knows 
who  did." 

"Not  he !  Dr.  Jorce  has  too  responsible  a  posi- 
tion to  mix  himself  up  in  a  crime  from  which  he 
gains  no  benefit." 

"Why!  what  position  does  he  hold?" 

"He  is  the  owner  of  a  private  lunatic  asylum. 
Is  it  likely  that  a  man  like  him  would  commit  a 
murder?" 

"Again  I  deny  that  he  did  commit  the  crime; 
but  I  am  certain,  from  the  very  fact  of  his  friend- 
ship with  Ferruci,  that  he  knows  more  than  he 
chooses  to  tell.  Why  should  the  Italian  be  inti- 
mate with  the  owner  of  a  private  asylum — with  a 
man  so  much  beneath  him  in  rank?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  But  if  you  suspect  Dr. 
Jorce  you  had  better  see  him  when  he  comes  back 
from  his  holidays — in  a  month." 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

"In  Italy,  and  the  Count  has  gone  with  him." 

Diana  and  Lucian  looked  at  one  another,  and  the 
former  spoke:  "That  is  strange,"  she  said.  "I 
agree  with  Mr.  Denzil,  it  is  peculiar,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  that  an  Italian  noble  should  make  a 
bosom  friend  of  a  man  so  far  inferior  to  jiim  in 


192  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

position.    Don't  you  think  so  yourself,  Mr.  Link?" 

"Madam,"  said  Link  gravely,  "I  think  nothing 
about  it,  save  that  you  will  never  find  out  the  truth. 
I  have  tried  my  best,  and  failed ;  and  I  am  confident 
enough  in  my  own  power  to  say  that  where  I  have 
failed  no  one  else  will  succeed.  Miss  Vrain,  Mr. 
Denzil,  I  wish  you  good-day." 

And  with  this  bragging  speech,  which  revealed 
the  hurt  vanity  of  the  man,  Mr.  Link  took  his  de- 
parture. Lucian  held  his  peace,  for  in  the  face  of 
this  desertion  of  a  powerful  ally  he  did  not  know 
what  to  say.  Diana  walked  to  the  sitting-room  win- 
dow and  watched  Link  disappear  into  the  crowd 
of  passers-by.  At  that  she  heaved  a  sigh,  for  with 
him — she  thought — went  every  chance  of  learning 
the  truth,  since  if  he,  an  experienced  person  in  such 
matters,  turned  back  from  the  quest,  there  could 
assuredly  be  no  help  in  any  one  not  professional, 
and  with  less  trained  abilities. 

Then  she  turned  to  Lucian. 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  be  done,  I  suppose," 
said  she,  sighing  again. 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  replied  Lucian  dismally,  for 
he  was  quite  of  her  opinion  regarding  the  desertion 
of  the  detective. 

"Then  I  must  leave  this  unknown  assassin  to  the 
punishment  of  God!"  said  Diana  quietly.  "And 
I  can  only  thank  you  for  all  you  have  done  for  me, 
Mr.  Denzil,  and  say" — she  hesitated  and  blushed, 
then  added,  with  some  emphasis — "say  au  revoir." 

"Ah!"    ejaculated    Denzil,    with   an    indrawn 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  193 

breath  of  relief,  "I  am  glad  you  did  not  say  good- 
bye." 

"I  don't  wish  to  say  it,  Mr.  Denzil.  I  have 
not  so  many  friends  in  the  world  that  I  can  afford 
to  lose  so  good  a  one  as  yourself." 

"I  am  content,"  said  Lucian  softly,  "that  you 
should  think  of  me  as  your  friend — for  the  pres- 
ent." 

His  meaning  was  so  unmistakable  that  Diana, 
still  blushing,  and  somewhat  confused,  hastened  to 
prevent  his  saying  more  at  so  awkward  a  moment. 
"Then  as  my  friend  I  hope  you  will  come  and  see 
me  at  Berwin  Manor." 

"I  shall  be  delighted.    When  do  you  go  down  ?" 

"Within  a  fortnight.  I  must  remain  that  time 
in  town  to  see  my  lawyer  about  the  estate  left  by 
my  poor  father." 

"AndseeMrs.Vrain?" 

"No,"  replied  Diana  coldly.  "Now  that  my 
father  is  dead,  Mrs.  Vrain  is  nothing  to  me.  Indi- 
rectly, I  look  upon  her  as  the  cause  of  his  death, 
for  if  she  had  not  driven  both  of  us  out  of  our  own 
home,  my  father  might  have  been  alive  still.  I 
shall  not  call  on  Mrs.  Vrain,  and  I  do  not  think 
she  will  dare  to  call  on  me." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  rejoined  Lucian,  who 
was  well  acquainted  with  the  lengths  to  which  Mrs. 
Vrain's  audacity  would  carry  her;  "but  let  us  dis- 
miss her,  with  all  your  other  troubles.  May  I  call 
on  you  again  before  you  leave  town?" 

"Occasionally,"    replied     Diana,    smiling    and 


i94  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

blushing;  "and  you  will  come  down  to  Berwin 
Manor  when  I  send  you  an  invitation?" 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  Denzil,  in  high  glee,  as 
he  rose  to  depart;  "and  now  I  will  say " 

"Good-bye?"  said  Miss  Vrain,  holding  out  her 
hand. 

"No.  I  will  use  your  own  form  of  farewell — 
an  revoir." 

Then  Lucian  went  out  from  the  presence  of  his 
beloved,  exulting  that  she  had  proved  so  kind  r.s 
not  to  dismiss  him  when  she  no  longer  required 
his  services.  In  another  woman  he  would  not  have 
minded  such  ingratitude,  but  had  Diana  banished 
him  thus  he  would  have  been  miserable  beyond 
words.  Also,  as  Lucian  joyfully  reflected,  her  in- 
vitation to  Berwin  Manor  showed  that,  far  from 
wishing  to  lose  sight  of  him,  she  desired  to  draw 
him  into  yet  closer  intimacy.  There  could  be  noth- 
ing but  good  resulting  from  her  invitation  and  his 
acceptance,  and  already  Denzil  looked  forward  to 
some  bright  summer's  day  in  the  green  and  leafy 
country,  when  he  should  ask  this  goddess  among 
women  to  be  his  wife.  If  encouragement  and  looks 
and  blushes  went  for  anything,  he  hardly  doubted 
the  happy  result. 

In  the  meantime,  while  Lucian  dreamed  his 
dreams,  Diana,  also  dreaming  in  her  own  way,  re- 
mained in  town  and  attended  to  business.  She  saw 
her  lawyers,  and  had  her  affairs  looked  into,  so 
that  when  she  went  to  Bath  she  was  legally  installed 
as  the  mistress  of  Berwin  Manor  and  its  surround- 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  195 

ing  acres.  _  As  Lucian  hinted,  Lydia  did  indeed  try 
to  see  her  stepdaughter.  She  called  twice,  and  was 
refused  admission  into  Diana's  presence.  She  wrote 
three  times,  and  received  no  reply  to  her  letters; 
so  the  consequence  was  that,  finding  Diana  declined 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  her  in  any  way  what- 
soever, she  became  very  bitter.  This  feeling  she 
expressed  to  Lucian,  whom  she  one  day  met  in  Pic- 
cadilly. 

"As  if  I  had  done  anything,"  finished  Lydia,  af- 
ter a  recital  of  all  her  grievances.  "I  call  it  real 
mean.  Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Denzil?" 

"If  you  ask  me,  Mrs.  Vrain,"  said  Lucian  stiffly, 
"I  think  you  and  Miss  Vrain  are  better  apart." 

"Of  course  you  defend  her.  But  I  guess  I  can't 
blame  you,  as  I  know  what  you  are  driving  at." 

"What  about  Signor  Ferruci?"  asked  Denzil, 
parrying. 

"Oh,  we  are  good  friends  still,  but  nothing  more. 
As  he  proved  that  he  did  not  kill  Mark,  I've  no 
reason  to  give  him  his  walking-ticket.  But,"  added 
Mrs.  Vrain  drily,  "I  guess  you'll  be  married  to 
Diana  before  I  hitch  up  'longside  Ercole." 

"How  do  you  know  I  shall  marry  Miss  Vrain?" 
asked  Lucian,  flushing. 

"If  you  saw  your  face  in  a  glass,  you  wouldn't 
ask,  I  guess.  Tomatoes  ain't  in  it  for  redness.  I 
won't  dance  at  your  wedding,  and  I  won't  break 
my  heart,  either,"  and  with  a  gay  nod  Mrs.  Lydia 
Vrain  tripped  away,  evidently  quite  forgetful  of  the 
late  tragedy  in  her  life. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AT  BERWIN  MANOR 

THE  heritage  of  Diana  lay  some  miles  from 
Bath,  in  a  pleasant  wooded  valley,  through  which 
meandered  a  placid  and  slow-flowing  stream.  On 
either  side  of  this  water  stretched  broad  meadow 
lands,  flat  and  fertile,  as  well  they  might  be,  seeing 
they  were  of  rich  black  loam,  and  well  drained, 
withal.  To  the  right  these  meadows  were  bounded 
by  forest  lands,  the  trees  of  which  grew  thickly  up 
and  over  the  ridge,  and  on  the  space  where  wood 
met  fields  was  placed  the  manor,  a  quaint  square 
building  of  Georgian  architecture,  and  some  two 
centuries  old. 

Against  the  green  of  the  trees  its  warm  walls  of 
red  brick  and  sloping  roof  of  bluish  slate  made  a 
pleasant  spot  of  colour.  There  stretched  a  terrace 
before  it;  beneath  the  terrace  a  flower  garden  and 
orchard;  and  below  these  the  meadow  lands,  white 
with  snow  in  winter,  black  in  spring,  with  ridgy 
furrows,  and  golden  with  grain  in  the  hot  days  of 
summer.  Altogether  a  lovely  and  peaceful  spot, 
where  a  man  could  pass  pleasant  days  in  rural  quiet, 
a  hermitage  of  rest  for  the  life-worn  and  heart- 
weary. 

196 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  197 

Here,  towards  the  end  of  summer,  came  Lucian, 
to  rest  his  brain  after  the  turmoil  of  London,  and 
to  court  his  mistress  under  the  most  favourable  cir- 
cumstances. Diana  had  established  herself  in  her 
ancestral  home  with  a  superannuated  governess  as 
a  chaperon,  for  without  such  a  guardianship  she 
could  hardly  have  invited  the  barrister  to  visit  her. 
Miss  Priscilla  Barbar  was  a  placid,  silver-haired 
old  dame,  who,  having  taught  Diana  for  many 
years,  had  returned,  now  that  the  American  Mrs. 
Vrain  had  departed,  to  spend  the  rest  of  her  days 
under  the  roof  of  her  dear  pupil. 

She  took  a  great  fancy  to  Lucian,  which  was 
just  as  well,  seeing  what  was  the  object  of  his  visit, 
and  complacently  watched  the  growing  attachment 
between  the  handsome  young  couple,  who  seemed 
so  suited  to  one  another.  But  her  duties  as  chap- 
eron were  nominal,  for  when  not  pottering  about 
the  garden  she  was  knitting  in  a  snug  corner,  and 
when  knitting  failed  to  interest  her  she  slumbered 
quietly,  in  defiance  of  the  etiquette  which  should 
have  compelled  her  to  make  a  third  in  the  conver- 
sation of  her  young  friends. 

As  for  Lucian  and  his  charming  hostess,  they 
found  that  they  had  so  many  tastes  in  common,  and 
enjoyed  each  other's  society  so  much,  that  they 
were  hardly  ever  apart.  Diana  saw  with  the  keen 
eyes  of  a  woman  that  Lucian  was  in  love  with  her, 
and  let  it  be  seen  in  a  marvellously  short  space  of 
time,  and  without  much  difficulty,  that  she  was  in 
love  with  him. 


198  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

But  even  after  Lucian  had  been  at  the  manor  a 
fortnight,  and  daily  in  the  society  of  Diana,  he 
spoke  no  word  of  love.  Seeing  how  beautiful  she 
was,  and  how  dowered  with  lands  and  rents  and 
horses,  he  began  to  ask  himself  whether  it  was  not 
rather  a  presumption  on  his  part  to  ask  her  to  share 
his  life.  He  had  only  three  hundred  a  year — six 
pounds  a  week — and  a  profession  in  which,  as  yet, 
he  had  not  succeeded ;  so  he  could  offer  her  very  lit- 
tle in  exchange  for  her  beauty,  wealth,  and  posi- 
tion. 

The  poor  lover  became  quite  pale  with  fruitless 
longing,  and  his  spirits  fell  so  low  that  good  Miss 
Priscilla  one  day  drew  him  aside  to  ask  about  his 
health. 

"For,"  said  she,  "if  you  are  ill  in  body,  Mr. 
Denzil,  I  know  of  some  remedies — old  woman's 
medicines  you  will  call  them,  no  doubt — which, 
with  the  blessing  of  God,  may  do  you  good." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Barbar,  but  I  am  not  ill  in 
body — worse  luck!"  and  Lucian  sighed. 

"Why  worse  luck,  Mr.  Denzil?"  said  the  old 
lady  severely.  "That  is  an  ungrateful  speech  to 
Providence." 

"I  would  rather  be  ill  in  body  than  ill  in  mind," 
explained  Denzil,  blushing,  for  in  some  ways  he 
was  younger  than  his  years. 

"And  are  you  ill  in  mind?"  asked  Miss  Priscilla, 
with  a  twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

"Alas!  yes.    Can  you  cure  me?" 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  199 

"No.  For  that  cure  I  shall  hand  you  over  to 
Diana." 

"Miss  Priscilla !"  And  Lucian  coloured  again, 
this  time  with  vexation. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Denzil,"  laughed  the  governess,  "be- 
cause I  am  old  you  must  not  imagine  that  I  am 
blind.  I  see  that  you  love  Diana." 

"Better  than  my  life!"  cried  the  devoted  lover 
with  much  fervour. 

"Of  course !  That  is  the  usual  romantic  answer 
to  make.  Well,  why  do  you  not  tell  Diana  so,  with 
any  pretty  additions  your  fancy  suggests?" 

"She  might  not  listen  to  me,"  said  this  doubting 
lover  dolefully. 

"Very  true,"  replied  his  consoler.  "On  the  other 
hand,  she  might.  Besides,  Mr.  Denzil,  however 
much  the  world  may  have  altered  since  my  youth,  I 
have  yet  to  learn  that  it  is  the  lady's  part  to  propose 
to  the  gentleman." 

"But,  Miss  Barbar,  I  am  poor!" 

"What  of  that?    Diana  is  rich." 

"Don't  I  know  it?  For  that  very  reason  I  hesi- 
tate to  ask  her." 

"Because  you  are  afraid  of  being  called  a  fortune- 
hunter,  I  suppose,"  said  the  old  lady  drily.  "That 
shows  a  lack  of  moral  courage  which  is  not  worthy 
of  you,  Mr.  Denzil.  Take  an  old  woman's  advice, 
young  man,  and  put  your  fortunes  to  the  test.  Re- 
member Montrose's  advice  in  the  song." 

"You  approve  of  my  marrying  Diana — I  mean 
Miss  Vrain?" 


200  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"From  what  I  have  seen  of  you,  and  from  what 
Diana  has  told  me  about  you,  I  could  wish  her  no 
better  husband.  Poor  girl!  After  the  tragical 
death  of  her  father,  and  her  wretched  life  with  that 
American  woman,  she  deserves  a  happy  future." 

"And  do  you  think — do  you  really  think  that 
she — that  she — would  be  happy  with — with  me?" 
stammered  Lucian,  hardly  daring  to  believe  Miss 
Priscilla,  whose  acquaintance  with  him  seemed  too 
recent  to  warrant  such  trust. 

The  wise  old  woman  laughed  and  nodded. 

"Ask  her  yourself,  my  dear,"  she  said,  patting 
his  hand.  "She  will  be  able  to  answer  that  question 
better  than  I.  Besides,  girls  like  to  say  'yea'  or 
'nay,'  themselves." 

This  seemed  to  be  good  advice,  and  certainly 
none  could  have  been  more  grateful  to  the  timid 
lover.  That  very  night  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
risk  his  fortunes  by  speaking  to  Diana.  It  was 
no  easy  matter  for  the  young  man  to  bring  himself 
to  do  so,  for  cool,  bold,  and  fluent  as  he  was  on 
ordinary  occasions,  the  fever  of  love  rendered  him 
shy  and  nervous.  The  looks  of  Diana  acted  on  his 
spirits  as  the  weather  does  on  a  barometer.  A  smile 
made  him  jocund  and  hilarious,  a  frown  abashed 
him  almost  to  gloom.  And  in  the  April  weather  of 
her  presence  he  was  as  variable  as  a  weather-cock. 
It  is,  therefore,  little  to  be  wondered  at  that  one 
one  ordinarily  daring  should  tremble  to  ask  a  ques- 
tion which  might  be  answered  in  the  negative.  True, 
Miss  Barbar's  partisanship  heartened  him  a  trifle, 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  201 

but  he  still- feared  for  the  result.  Cupid,  as  well 
as  conscience,  makes  cowards  of  us  all — and  Lucian 
was  a  doubting  lover. 

Towards  the  end  of  his  stay  Miss  Priscilla — as 
usual — fell  asleep  one  evening  after  dinner,  and 
Diana,  feeling  the  house  too  warm,  stepped  out 
into  the  garden,  followed  by  Lucian.  The  sun  had 
just  set  behind  the  undulating  hills,  and  the  clear 
sky,  to  the  zenith,  was  of  a  pale  rose  colour,  striped 
towards  the  western  horizon  with  lines  of  golden 
cloud.  In  the  east  a  cold  blue  prevailed,  and  here 
and  there  a  star  sparkled  in  the  arch  of  the  sky. 

The  garden  was  filled  with  floating  shadows, 
which  seemed  to  glide  into  it  from  the  dark  re- 
cesses of  the  near  woods,  and  in  a  copse  some  dis- 
tance away  a  nightingale  was  singing  to  his  mate, 
and  filling  the  silence  with  melody.  The  notes  fluted 
sweetly  through  the  still  air,  mingling  with  the  sigh 
of  the  rising  wind  and  the  musical  splashing  of  the 
fountain.  This  shot  up  a  pillar  of  silvery  water  to 
a  great  height,  and  in  descending  sprinkled  the  near 
flower  beds  with  its  cold  spray.  All  was  inexpres- 
sibly beautiful  to  the  eye  and  soothing  to  the  ear — 
a  scene  and  an  hour  for  love.  It  might  have  been 
the  garden  of  the  Capulets,  and  those  who  moved 
in  it — the  immortal  lovers,  as  yet  uncursed  by  Fate. 

"Only  three  more  days,"  sighed  Lucian  as  he 
walked  slowly  down  the  path  beside  Diana,  "and 
then  that  noisy  London  again." 

"Perhaps  it  is  as  well,"  said  Diana,  in  her  prac- 


202  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

tical  way.  "You  would  rust  here.  But  is  there 
any  need  for  you  to  go  back  so  soon?" 

"I  must — for  my  own  peace  of  mind." 

Diana  started  and  blushed  at  the  meaning  of  his 
tone  and  words. 

Then  she  recovered  her  serenity  and  sat  down  on 
an  old  stone  seat,  near  which  stood  a  weather-beaten 
statue  of  Venus.  Seeing  that  she  kept  silent  in  spite 
of  his  broad  hint,  Lucian — to  bring  matters  to  a 
crisis — resolved  to  approach  the  subject  in  a  mytho- 
logical way  through  the  image  of  the  goddess. 

"I  am  sorry  I  am  not  a  Greek,  Miss  Vrain,"  he 
said  abruptly. 

"Why?"  asked  Diana,  secretly  astonished  by  the 
irrelevancy  of  the  remark. 

Lucian  plucked  a  red  rose  from  the  bush  which 
grew  near  the  statue  and  placed  it  on  the  pedestal. 

"Because  I  would  lay  my  offering  at  the  feet  of 
the  goddess,  and  touch  her  knees  to  demand  a 
boon." 

"What  boon  would  you  ask?"  said  Diana  in  a 
low  voice. 

"I  would  beseech  that  in  return  for  my  rose  of 
flowers  she  would  give  me  the  rose  of  womanhood." 

"A  modest  request.  Do  you  think  it  would  be 
granted?" 

"Do  you?"  asked  Lucian,  picking  up  the  rose 
again. 

"How  can  I  reply  to  your  parables,  or  read  your 
dark  sayings?"  said  Diana,  half  in  earnest,  half  in 
mirth. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  203 

"I  can  speak  plainer  if  you  permit  it." 

"If— if  you  like!" 

The  young  man  laid  the  rose  on  Diana's  lap. 
"Then  in  return  for  my  rose  give  me — yourself !" 

"Mr.  Denzil!"  cried  Diana,  starting  up,  where- 
by the  flower  fell  to  the  ground.  "You — you  sur- 
prise me!" 

"Indeed,  I  surprise  myself,"  said  Lucian  sadly. 
"That  I  should  dare  to  raise  my  eyes  to  you  is  no 
doubt  surprising." 

"I  don't  see  that  at  all,"  exclaimed  Diana  coldly. 
"I  like  to  be  woo'd  like  a  woman,  not  honoured  like 
a  goddess." 

"You  are  both  woman  and  goddess!  But — you 
are  not  angry?" 

"Why  should  I  be  angry?" 

"Because  I — I  love  you !" 

"I  cannot  be  angry  with — with — shall  we  say  a 
compliment." 

"Oh,  Diana !" 

"Wait!  wait!"  cried  Miss  Vrain,  waving  back 
this  too  eager  lover.  "You  cannot  love  me !  You 
have  known  me  only  a  month  or  two." 

"Love  can  be  born  in  an  hour,"  cried  Lucian 
eagerly.  "I  loved  you  on  the  first  day  I  saw  you ! 
I  love  you  now — I  shall  love  you  ever!" 

"Will  you  truly  love  me  ever,  Lucian?" 

"Oh,  my  darling!  Can  you  doubt  it?  And 
you?"  He  looked  at  her  hopefully. 

"And  I?"  she  repeated  in  a  pretty  mocking  tone, 


204  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"and  I?"     With  a  laugh,  she  bent  and  picked  up 
the  flower.     "I  take  the  rose  and  I  give  you " 

"Yourself!"  cried  the  enraptured  lover,  and  the 
next  moment  he  was  clasping  her  to  his  breast. 
"Oh,  Diana,  dearest !  Will  you  really  be  my  wife  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  softly,  and  kissed  him. 

For  a  few  moments  the  emotions  of  both  over- 
came them  too  much  to  permit  further  speech ;  then 
Diana  sat  down  and  made  Lucian  sit  beside  her. 

"Lucian,"  she  said  in  a  firm  voice,  "I  love  you, 
and  I  shall  be  your  wife — when  you  find  out  who 
killed  my  poor  father!" 

"It  is  impossible !"  he  cried  in  dismay. 

"No.  We  must  prosecute  the  search.  I  have 
no  right  to  be  happy  while  the  wretch  who  killed 
him  is  still  at  large.  We  have  failed  hitherto,  but 
we  may  succeed  yet!  and  when  we  succeed  I  shall 
marry  you." 

"My  darling!"  cried  Lucian  in  ecstasy;  and  then 
in  a  more  subdued  tone:  "I'll  do  all  I  can  to  find 
out  the  truth.  But,  after  all,  from  what  point  can 
I  begin  afresh  ?" 

"From  the  point  of  Mrs.  Vrain,"  said  Diana  un- 
expectedly. 

"Mrs.  Vrain !"  cried  the  startled  Lucian.  "Do 
you  still  suspect  her?" 

"Yes,  I  do!" 

"But  she  has  cleared  herself  on  the  most  unde- 
niable evidence." 

"Not  in  my  eyes,"  said  Diana  obstinately.  "If 
Mrs.  Vrain  is  innocent,  how  did  she  find  out  that 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  205 

the  unknown  man  murdered  in  Geneva  Square  was 
my  father?" 

"By  his  assumption  of  the  name  of  Berwin, 
which  was  mentioned  in  the  advertisement;  also 
from  the  description  of  the  body,  and  particularly 
by  the  mention  of  the  cicatrice  on  the  right  cheek, 
and  of  the  loss  of  the  little  finger  of  the  left  hand." 

Diana  started.  "I  never  heard  that  about  the 
little  finger,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes.  I  saw  myself  when  I  knew  your  father 
as  Berwin,  that  he  had  lost  that  little  finger." 

"Then,  Lucian,  you  did  not  see  my  father!" 

"What!"  cried  Denzil,  hardly  able  to  credit  her 
words. 

"My  father  never  lost  a  finger!"  cried  Diana, 
starting  to  her  feet.  "Ah,  Lucian,  I  now  begin  to 
see  light.  That  man  who  called  himself  Berwin, 
who  was  murdered,  was  not  my  father.  No,  I  be- 
lieve— on  my  soul,  I  believe  that  my  father,  Mark 
Vrain,  is  alive!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  STARTLING  THEORY 

WHEN  Diana  declared  that  her  father  yet  lived, 
Lucian  drew  back  from  her  in  amazement,  for  of 
all  impossible  things  said  of  this  impossible  case 
this  saying  of  hers  was  the  strangest  and  most  in- 
credible. Hitherto,  not  a  suspicion  had  entered  his 
mind  but  that  the  man  so  mysteriously  slain  in  Gen- 
eva Square  was  Mark  Vrain,  and,  for  the  moment, 
he  thought  that  Diana  was  distraught  to  deny  so 
positive  a  fact. 

"It  is  impossible,"  said  he,  shaking  his  head, 
"quite  impossible.  Mrs.  Vrain  identified  the  corpse, 
and  so  did  other  people  who  knew  your  father 
well." 

"As  to  Mrs.  Vrain,"  said  Diana  contemptuously, 
"I  quite  believe  she  would  lie  to  gain  her  own  ends. 
And  it  may  be  that  the  man  who  was  murdered  was 
like  my  father  in  the  face,  but " 

"He  had  the  mark  on  his  cheek,"  interrupted 
Lucian,  impatient  of  this  obstinate  belief  in  the 
criminality  of  Lydia. 

"I  know  that  mark  well,"  replied  Miss  Vrain. 
"My  father  received  it  in  a  duel  he  fought  in  his 

206 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  207 

youth,  when  he  was  a  student  in  a  German  univer- 
sity ;  but  the  missing  finger"  She  shook  her  head. 

"He  might  have  lost  the  finger  while  you  were  in 
Australia,"  suggested  the  barrister. 

"He  might,"  rejoined  Diana  doubtfully,  "but  it 
is  unlikely.  As  to  other  people  identifying  the 
body,  they  no  doubt  did  so  by  looking  at  the  face 
and  its  scar.  Still,  I  do  not  believe  the  murdered 
man  was  my  father." 

"If  not,  why  should  Mrs.  Vrain  identify  the  body 
as  that  of  her  husband?" 

"Why?  Because  she  wanted  to  get  the  assur- 
ance money." 

"She  may  have  been  misled  by  the  resemblance  of 
the  dead  man  to  your  father." 

"And  who  provided  that  resemblance  ?  My  dear 
Lucian,  I  would  not  be  at  all  surprised  to  learn  that 
there  was  conspiracy  as  well  as  murder  in  this  mat- 
ter. My  father  left  his  home,  and  Lydia  could 
not  find  him.  I  quite  believe  that.  As  she  cannot 
prove  his  death,  she  finds  it  impossible  to  obtain 
the  assurance  money;  so  what  does  she  do?" 

"I  cannot  guess,"  said  Lucian,  anxious  to  hear 
Diana's  theory. 

"Why,  she  finds  a  man  who  resembles  my  father, 
and  sets  him  to  play  the  part  of  the  recluse  in  Gen- 
eva Square.  She  selects  a  man  in  ill  health  and 
given  to  drink,  that  he  may  die  the  sooner ;  and,  by 
being  buried  as  Mark  Vrain,  give  her  the  money  she 
wants.  When  you  told  me  of  this  man  Berwin's 
coughing  and  drinking,  I  thought  it  strange,  as  my 


208  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

father  had  no  consumptive  disease  when  I  left  him, 
and  never,  during  his  life,  was  he  given  to  over- 
indulgence in  drink.  Now  I  see  the  truth.  This 
dead  man  was  Lydia's  puppet." 

"Even  granting  that  this  is  so,  which  I  doubt, 
Diana,  why  should  the  man  be  murdered?" 

"Why?"  cried  Diana  fiercely.  "Because  he  was 
not  dying  quickly  enough  for  that  woman's  pur- 
pose. She  did  not  kill  him  herself,  if  her  alibi  is 
to  be  credited,  but  she  employed  Ferruci  to  murder 
him." 

"You  forget  Signer  Ferruci  also  proved  an 
alibi." 

"A  very  doubtful  one,"  said  Miss  Vrain  scorn- 
fully. "You  did  not  ask  that  Dr.  Jorce  the  ques- 
tions you  should  have  done.  Go  up  to  London  now, 
Lucian,  see  him  at  Hampstead,  and  find  out  if  Fer- 
ruci was  at  his  house  at  eight  o'clock  on  Christmas 
Eve.  Then  I  shall  believe  him  guiltless;  till  then, 
I  hold  him  but  the  creature  and  tool  of  Lydia." 

"Jorce  declares  that  Ferruci  was  with  him  at  the 
house  when  the  murder  was  committed?" 

"Can  you  believe  that?  Ferruci  may  have  made 
it  worth  the  while  of  this  doctor  to  lie.  And  even 
granting  that  much,  the  presence  of  Ferruci  at  the 
Jersey  Street  house  shows  that  he  knew  what  was 
going  to  take  place  on  that  night,  and  perhaps  ar- 
ranged with  another  man  to  do  the  deed.  Either 
way  you  look  at  it,  he  and  Lydia  are  implicated." 

"I  tell  you  it  is  impossible,  Diana,"  said  Lucian, 
finding  it  vain  to  combat  this  persistent  belief.  "All 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  209 

this  plotting  of  crime  is  such  as  is  found  in  novels, 
not  in  real  life " 

"In  real  life,"  cried  Diana,  taking  the  words  out 
of  his  mouth,  "more  incredible  things  take  place 
than  can  be  conceived  by  the  most  fantastic  imagina- 
tion of  an  author.  Look  at  this  talk  of  ours — it 
began  with  words  of  love  and  marriage  speeches, 
and  it  ends  with  a  discussion  of  murder.  But  this 
I  say,  Lucian,  that  if  you  love  me,  and  would  have 
me  marry  you,  you  must  find  out  the  truth  of  these 
matters.  Learn  if  this  dead  man  is  my  father — for 
from  what  you  have  told  me  of  the  lost  finger  I 
do  not  believe  that  he  is.  Hunt  down  the  assassin, 
and  discover  if  he  is  whom  I  believe  him  to  be — 
Ferruci  himself;  and  learn,  if  you  can,  what  Lydia 
has  to  do  with  all  these  evil  matters.  Do  this,  and 
I  am  yours.  Refuse,  and  I  shall  not  marry  you  !" 

"You  set  me  a  hard  task,"  said  Lucian,  with  a 
sigh,  "and  I  hardly  know  how  to  set  about  it." 

"Be  guided  by  me,"  replied  Diana.  "Go  up  to 
London  and  put  an  advertisement  in  the  papers  of- 
fering a  reward  for  the  discovery  of  my  father. 
He  is  of  medium  height,  with  grey  hair,  and  has  a 
clean-shaven  face,  with  a  scar  on  it " 

"You  describe  the  dead  man,  Diana." 

"But  he  has  not  lost  a  finger,"  continued  Diana, 
as  though  she  had  not  heard  him.  "If  my  father, 
for  fear  of  Lydia,  is  in  hiding,  he  will  come  to  you 
or  me  in  answer  to  that  advertisement." 

"But  he  must  have  seen  the  report  of  his  death 


210  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

by  violence  in  the  papers,  if  indeed  he  is  alive," 
urged  Lucian,  at  his  wit's  end. 

"My  father  is  weak  in  the  head,  and  perhaps 
was  afraid  to  come  out  in  the  midst  of  such  trouble. 
But  if  you  put  in  the  advertisement  that  I — his 
daughter — am  in  England,  he  will  come  to  me,  for 
with  me  he  knows  he  is  safe.  Also  call  on  Dr. 
Jorce,  and  find  out  the  truth  about  Signer  Ferruci." 

"And  then?" 

"Then  when  you  have  done  these  two  things  we 
shall  see  what  will  come  of  them.  Promise  me  to 
do  what  I  ask  you." 

"I  promise,"  said  Lucian,  taking  her  hand,  "but 
you  send  me  on  a  wild-goose  chase." 

"That  may  be,  Lucian,  but  my  heart — my  pre- 
sentiment— my — instinct — whatever  you  like  to  call 
it — tells  me  otherwise.  Now  let  us  go  inside." 

"Shall  we  tell  Miss  Barbar  of  our  engagement?" 
asked  Denzil  timidly. 

"No;  you  will  tell  no  one  of  that  until  we  learn 
the  truth  of  this  conspiracy.  When  we  do,  Lucian, 
you  will  find  that  my  father  is  not  dead  but  is  alive, 
and  will  be  at  our  wedding." 

"I  doubt  it— I  doubt  it." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  answered  Diana,  and  slipping 
her  hand  within  the  arm  of  her  lover  she  walked 
with  him  up  to  the  house.  It  was  the  strangest  of 
wooings. 

Miss  Barbar,  with  a  true  woman's  interest  in  love 
affairs,  was  inclined  to  congratulate  them  both  when 
they  entered,  deeming — as  the  chance  had  been  so 


THE  SILEN  T  HO  USE  2 1 1 

propitious^— that  Lucian  had  proposed.  But  Diana 
looked  so  stern,  and  Lucian  so  gloomy,  that  she  held 
her  peace. 

Later  on,  when  her  curiosity  got  the  better  of 
her  desire  not  to  offend  her  pupil,  she  asked  if  Den- 
zil  had  spoken. 

"Yes,"  replied  Diana,  "he  has  spoken." 
"And  you  have  refused  him?"  cried  the  old  lady 
in  dismay,  for  she  did  not  relish  the  idea  that  Lucian 
should  have  lost  by  her  counsel. 
"No;  I  have  not  refused  him." 
"Then  you  have  said  'yes,'  my  dear!" 
"I  have  said  sufficient,"  replied  Diana  cautiously. 
"Please  do  not  question  me  any  further,  Miss  Bar- 
bar.     Lucian  and  I  understand  one  another  very 
well." 

"She  calls  him  by  his  Christian  name,"  thought 
the  wise  old  dame,  "that  is  well.  She  will  not  speak 
of  her  happiness,  that  is  ill,"  and  in  various  crafty 
ways  Miss  Barbar  tried  to  learn  how  matters  actu- 
ally stood  between  the  pair. 

But  if  she  was  skilful  in  asking  questions,  Diana 
was  equally  skilful  in  baffling  them,  and  Miss  Bar- 
bar  learned  nothing  more  than  her  pupil  chose  to 
tell  her,  and  that  was  little  enough.  To  perplex  her 
still  further,  Lucian  departed  for  London  the  next 
day,  with  a  rather  disconsolate  look  on  his  hand- 
some face,  and  gave  his  adviser  no  very  satisfactory 
explanation  at  parting. 

So  Miss  Barbar  was  forced  to  remain  in  igno- 
rance of  the  success  or  failure  of  her  counsel,  and 


212  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

could  by  no  means  discover  if  the  marriage  she  was 
so  anxious  to  bring  about  was  likely  to  take  place. 
And  so  ended  Denzil's  visit  to  Berwin  Manor. 

In  the  meantime,  Lucian  went  back  to  London 
with  a  heavy  heart,  for  He  did  not  see  how  he  was 
to  set  about  the  task  imposed  on  him  by  Diana. 
At  first  he  thought  it  would  be  best  to  advertise, 
as  she  advised,  but  this  he  considered  would  do  no 
good,  as  if  Vrain — supposing  him  to  be  alive  and 
in  hiding — would  not  come  out  at  the  false  report 
of  his  murder,  he  certainly  would  not  appear  in  an- 
swer to  an  advertisement  that  might  be  a  snare. 

Then  Lucian  wondered  if  it  would  be  possible 
to  have  the  grave  opened  a  second  time  that  Diana 
might  truly  see  if  the  corpse  was  that  of  her  father 
or  of  another  man.  But  this  also  was  impossible, 
and — to  speak  plainly — useless,  for  by  this  time  the 
body  would  not  be  recognisable ;  therefore,  it  would 
be  of  little  use  to  exhume  the  poor  dead  man,  whom- 
soever he  might  be,  for  the  second  time.  Finally, 
Lucian  judged  it  would  be  wisest  of  all  to  call  on 
Dr.  Jorce,  and  find  out  why  he  was  friendly  with 
Ferruci,  and  how  much  he  knew  of  the  Italian's 
doings. 

While  the  barrister  was  making  up  his  mind  to 
this  course  he  was  surprised  to  receive  a  visit  from 
no  less  a  person  than  Mr.  Jabez  Clyne,  the  father 
of  Lydia. 

The  little  man,  usually  so  bright  and  merry,  now 
looked  worried  and  ill  at  ease.  Lucian — so  much 
as  he  had  seen  of  him — had  always  liked  him  better 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  213 

than  Lydia,  and  was  sorry  to  see  him  so  downcast. 
Nor  when  he  learned  the  reason  was  he  better 
pleased.  Clyne  told  it  to  him  in  a  roundabout 
way. 

"Do  you  know  anything  against  Signor  Fer- 
ruci  ?"  he  asked,  when  the  first  greetings  were  over. 

"Very  little,  and  that  bad,"  replied  Denzil 
shortly. 

"Do  you  refer  to  the  horrible  death  of  my  son- 
in-law?" 

"Yes,  I  do,  Mr.  Clyne.  I  believe  Ferruci  had  a 
hand  in  it,  and  if  you  bring  him  here  I'll  tell  him 


so." 


"Can  you  prove  it?"  asked  Clyne  eagerly. 

"No.  As  yet,  Ferruci  has  proved  that  he  was 
not  in  Geneva  Square  on  the  night  of  the  crime — 
or  rather,"  added  Lucian,  correcting  himself,  "at 
the  hour  when  the  murder  was  committed." 

dyne's  face  fell.  "I  wish  you  could  discover  if 
he  is  guilty  or  not,"  he  said.  "I  am  anxious  to 
know  the  truth." 

"Why?"  asked  Lucian  bluntly. 

"Because  if  he  is  guilty,  I  don't  want  my  daugh- 
ter to  marry  a  murderer." 

"What!     Is  Mrs.  Vrain  going  to  marry  him?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  little  man  disconsolately,  "and  I 
wish  she  wasn't." 

"So  do  I — for  her  own  sake.  I  thought  she  did 
not  like  him.  She  said  as  much  to  me." 

"I  can't  make  her  out,  Mr.  Denzil.  She  grew 
tired  of  him  for  a  time,  but  now  she  has  taken  up 


2i4  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

with  him  again,  and  nothing  I  can  say  or  do  will 
stop  the  marriage.  I  love  Lydia  beyond  words,  as 
she  is  my  only  child,  and  I  don't  want  to  see  her 
married  to  a  man  of  doubtful  reputation  like  Fer- 
ruci.  So  I  thought  I'd  call  and  see  if  you  could 
help  me." 

"I  can't,"  replied  Lucian.  "As  yet  I  have  found 
out  nothing  likely  to  implicate  Ferruci  in  the 
crime." 

"But  you  may,"  said  Clyne  hopefully. 

Lucian  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"If  I  do,  you  shall  know  at  once,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

LUCIAN  IS  SURPRISED 

ALTHOUGH  Denzil  received  Mr.  Clyne  with  all 
courtesy,  and  promised  to  aid  him,  if  he  could,  in 
breaking  off  the  marriage  with  Ferruci,  by  reveal- 
ing his  true  character  to  Mrs.  Vrain,  he  by  no 
means  made  a  confidant  of  the  little  man,  or  en- 
trusted him  with  the  secret  of  his  plans.  Clyne,  as 
he  well  knew,  was  dominated  in  every  way  by  his 
astute  daughter,  and  did  he  learn  Lucian's  inten- 
tions, he  was  quite  capable — through  sheer  weak- 
ness of  character — of  revealing  the  same  to  Lydia, 
who,  in  her  turn — since  she  was  bent  upon  marry- 
ing Ferruci — might  retail  them  to  the  Italian,  and 
so  put  him  on  his  guard. 

Denzil,  therefore,  rid  himself  of  the  American 
by  promising  to  tell  him,  on  some  future  occasion, 
all  that  he  knew  about  Ferruci.  Satisfied  with  this, 
Clyne  departed  in  a  more  cheerful  mood,  and,  ap- 
parently, hoped  for  the  best. 

After  his  departure,  Lucian  again  began  to  con- 
sider his  idea  of  calling  on  Jorce  regarding  the  alibi 
of  Ferruci.  On  further  reflection  he  judged  that, 
before  paying  the  visit  to  Hampstead,  it  might  be 

21S 


216  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

judicious  to  see  Rhoda  again,  and  refresh  his  mem- 
ory in  connection  with  the  events  of  Christmas  Eve. 
With  this  idea  he  put  on  his  hat,  and  shortly  after 
.the  departure  of  Clyne  walked  round  to  Jersey 
Street. 

On  ringing  the  bell,  the  door  was  opened  by 
Rhoda  in  person,  looking  sharper  and  more  cun- 
ning than  ever.  She  informed  him  that  he  could 
not  see  Mrs.  Bensusan,  as  that  good  lady  was  in 
bed  with  a  cold. 

"I  don't  want  to  see  your  mistress,  my  girl," 
said  Lucian  quickly,  to  stop  Rhoda  from  shutting 
the  door  in  his  face,  which  she  seemed  disposed  to 
do.  "I  desire  to  speak  with  you." 

"About  that  there  murder?"  asked  Rhoda  sharp- 
ly. Then  in  reply  to  the  nod  of  Lucian  she  con- 
tinued :  "I  told  you  all  I  knew  about  it  when  you 
called  before.  I  don't  know  nothing  more." 

"Can  you  tell  me  the  name  of  the  dark  man  you 
saw  in  the  yard?" 

"No,  I  can't.     I  know  nothing  about  him." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  Mr.  Wrent  mention  his 
name?" 

"No,  sir.  He  called  and  he  went,  and  I  saw 
him  in  the  back  yard  at  8.30.  I  never  spoke  to 
him,  and  he  never  spoke  to  me." 

"Could  you  swear  to  the  man  if  you  saw  him?" 

"Yes,  I  could.  Have  you  got  him  with  you?" 
asked  Rhoda  eagerly. 

"Not  at  present,"  answered  Lucian,  rather  sur- 
prised by  the  vindictive  expression  on  the  girl's 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  217 

face.    "But  later  on  I  may  call  upon  you  to  identify 
him." 

"Do  you  know  who  he  is?"  asked  the  servant 
quickly. 

"I  think  so." 

"Did  he  kill  that  man?" 

"Possibly,"  said  Denzil,  wondering  at  these  very 
pointed  questions.  "Why  do  you  ask?" 

"I  have  my  reasons,  sir.    Where  is  my  cloak?" 

"I  will  return  it  later  on;  it  will  probably  be 
used  as  evidence." 

Rhoda  started.  "Where?"  she  demanded,  with 
a  frown. 

"At  the  trial." 

"Do  you  think  they'll  hang  the  person  who  killed 
Mr.  Vrain?" 

"If  the  police  catch  him,  and  his  guilt  is  proved, 
I  am  sure  they  will  hang  him." 

The  girl's  eyes  flashed  with  a  wicked  light,  and 
she  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands  with  a  quick, 
nervous  movement.  "I  hope  they  will,"  she  said 
in  a  low,  rapid  voice.  "I  hope  they  will." 

"What !"  cried  Lucian,  with  a  step  forward.  "Do 
you  know  the  assassin?" 

"No!"  cried  Rhoda,  with  much  vehemence.     "I 
swear  I  don't,  but  I  think  the  murderer  ought  to 
be  hanged.    I  know — I  know — well,  I  know  some-' 
thing — see  me  to-morrow  night,  and  you'll  hear." 

"Hear  what?" 

"The  truth,"  said  this  strange  girl,  and  shut  the 
door  before  Lucian  could  say  another  word. 


2i 8  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

The  barrister,  quite  dumbfounded,  remained  on 
the  step  looking  at  the  closed  door.  So  important 
were  Rhoda's  words  that  he  was  on  the  point  of 
ringing  again,  to  interview  her  once  more  and  force 
her  to  speak.  But  when  he  reflected  that  Mrs. 
Bensusan  was  in  bed,  and  that  Rhoda  alone  could 
reopen  the  door — which  from  her  late  action  it 
was  pretty  evident  she  would  not  do — he  decided  to 
retire  for  the  present.  It  was  little  use  to  call 
in  the  police,  or  create  trouble  by  forcing  his  way 
into  the  house,  as  that  might  induce  Rhoda  to  run 
away  before  giving  her  evidence.  So  Lucian  de- 
parted, with  the  intention  of  keeping  the  next 
night's  appointment,  and  hearing  what  Rhoda  had 
to  say. 

"The  truth,"  he  repeated,  as  he  walked  along 
the  street.  "Evidently  she  knows  who  killed  this 
man.  If  so,  why  did  she  not  speak  before,  and  why 
is  she  so  vindictive?  Heavens!  If  Diana's  belief 
should  be  a  true  one,  and  her  father  not  dead  ?  Con- 
spiracy !  murder !  this  gypsy  girl,  that  subtle  Italian, 
and  the  mysterious  Wrent !  My  head  is  in  a  whirl. 
I  cannot  understand  what  it  all  means.  To-morrow, 
.  when  Rhoda  speaks,  I  may.  But — can  I  trust  her  ? 
I  doubt  it.  Still,  there  is  nothing  else  for  it.  I 
must  trust  her." 

Talking  to  himself  in  this  incoherent  way,  Lucian 
reached  his  rooms  and  tried  to  quiet  the  excite- 
ment of  his  brain  caused  by  the  strange  words  of 
Rhoda.  It  was  yet  early  in  the  afternoon,  so  he 
took  up  a  book  and  threw  himself  on  the  sofa  to 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  219 

read  for  an  hour,  but  he  found  it  quite  impossible 
to  fix  his  attention  on  the  page.  The  case  in  which 
he  was  concerned  was  far  more  exciting  than  any 
invention  of  the  brain,  and  after  a  vain  attempt  to 
banish  it  from  his  mind  he  jumped  up  and  threw 
the  book  aside. 

Although  he  did  not  know  it,  Lucian  was  suffer- 
ing from  a  sharp  attack  of  detective  fever,  and  the 
only  means  of  curing  such  a  disease  is  to  learn  the 
secret  which  haunts  the  imagination.  Rhoda,  as 
she  stated — rather  ambiguously,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed— could  reveal  this  especial  secret  touching 
the  murder  of  Vrain ;  but,  for  some  hidden  reason, 
chose  to  delay  her  confession  for  twenty-four  hours. 
Lucian,  all  on  fire  with  curiosity,  found  himself  un- 
able to  bear  this  suspense,  so  to  distract  his  mind 
and  learn,  if  possible,  the  true  relationship  exist- 
ing between  Ferruci  and  Jorce,  he  set  out  for  Hamp- 
stead  to  interview  the  doctor. 

"The  Haven,"  as  Jorce,  with  some  humour, 
termed  his  private  asylum,  was  a  red  brick  house, 
large,  handsome,  and  commodious,  built  in  a  wood- 
ed and  secluded  part  of  Hampstead.  It  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  high  brick  wall,  over  which  the  trees 
of  its  park  could  be  seen,  and  possessed  a  pair  of 
elaborate  iron  gates,  opening  on  to  a  quiet  country 
lane.  Externally,  it  looked  merely  the  estate  of 
a  gentleman. 

The  grounds  were  large,  and  well  laid  out  in 
flower  gardens  and  orchards;  and  as  it  was  Dr. 
Jorce's  system  to  allow  his  least  crazy  patients  as 


220  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

much  liberty  as  possible,  they  roamed  at  will  round 
the  grounds,  giving  the  place  a  cheerful  and  popu- 
lated look.  The  more  violent  inmates  were,  of 
course,  secluded;  but  these  were  well  and  kindly 
treated  by  the  doctor.  Indeed,  Jorce  was  a  very 
humane  man,  and  had  a  theory  that  more  cures  of 
the  unhappy  beings  under  his  charge  could  be  ef- 
fected by  kindness  than  by  severity. 

His  asylum  was  more  like  a  private  hotel  with 
paying  guests  than  an  establishment  for  the  reten- 
tion of  the  insane,  and  even  to  an  outside  observer 
the  eccentricities  of  the  doctor's  family — as  he  loved 
to  call  them — were  not  more  marked  than  many  of 
the  oddities  possessed  by  people  at  large.  Indeed, 
Jorce  was  in  the  habit  of  saying  that  "There  were 
more  mad  people  in  the  world  than  were  kept  un- 
der lock  and  key,"  and  in  this  he  was  doubtless 
right.  However,  the  kindly  and  judicious  little 
man  was  like  a  father  to  those  under  his  charge,  and 
very  popular  with  them  all.  Anything  more  unlike 
the  popular  conception  of  an  asylum  than  the  estab- 
lishment at  Hampstead  can  scarcely  be  imagined. 

When  Lucian  arrived  at  "The  Haven,"  he  found 
that  Jorce  had  long  since  returned  from  his  holi- 
day, and  was  that  day  at  home;  so  on  sending  in 
his  card  he  was  at  once  admitted  into  the  presence 
of  the  local  potentate.  Jorce,  looking  smaller  and 
more  like  a  fairy  changeling  than  ever,  was  evident- 
ly pleased  to  see  Lucian,  but  a  look  on  his  dry,  yel- 
low face  indicated  that  he  was  somewhat  puzzled  to 
account  for  the  visit.  However,  preliminary  greet- 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  221 

ings  having  passed,  Lucian  did  not  leave  him  long 
in  doubt. 

"Dr.  Jorce,"  he  said  boldly,  and  without  pre- 
amble, "I  have  called  to  see  you  about  that  alibi 
of  Signer  Ferruci's." 

"Alibi  is  a  nasty  word,  Mr.  Denzil,"  said  Jorce, 
looking  sharply  at  his  visitor. 

"Perhaps,  but  it  is  the  only  word  that  can  be 
used  with  propriety." 

"But  I  thought  that  I  was  called  on  to  decide 
a  bet." 

"Oh,  that  was  Count  Ferruci's  clever  way  of  put- 
ting it,"  responded  Lucian,  with  a  sneer.  "He  did 
not  wish  you  to  know  too  much  about  his  busi- 
ness." 

"H'm!  Perhaps  I  know  more  than  you  think, 
Mr.  Denzil." 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  cried  Lucian  sharply. 

"Softly,  Mr.  Denzil,  softly,"  rejoined  the  doc- 
tor, waving  his  hand.  "I  shall  explain  everything 
to  your  satisfaction.  Do  you  know  why  I  went  to 
Italy?" 

"No;  no  more  than  I  know  why  you  went  with 
Signer  Ferruci,"  replied  Lucian,  recalling  Link's 
communication. 

"Ah !"  said  Jorce  placidly,  "you  have  been  mak- 
ing inquiries,  I  see.  But  you  are  wrong  in  one 
particular.  I  did  not  go  to  Italy  with  Ferruci — I 
left  him  in  Paris,  and  I  went  on  myself  to  Florence 
to  find  out  the  true  character  of  the  man." 

"Why  did  you  wish  to  do  that,  doctor?" 


222  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Because  I  had  some  business  with  our  mutual 
friend,  the  Count,  and  I  was  not  altogether  pleased 
with  the  way  in  which  it  was  conducted.  Also,  my 
last  interview  with  you  about  that  bet  made  me 
suspicious  of  the  man.  Over  in  Florence  I  learned 
sufficient  about  the  Count  to  assure  me  that  he  is 
a  bad  man,  with  whom  it  is  as  well  to  have  as  little 
to  do  as  possible.  I  intended  to  return  at  once 
with  this  information  and  call  on  you,  Mr.  Denzil. 
Unfortunately,  I  fell  ill  of  an  attack  of  typhoid 
fever  in  Florence,  and  had  to  stay  there  these  two 
months." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Lucian,  noting  that  the  doctor 
did  look  ill,  ubut  why  did  you  not  send  on  your 
information  to  me?" 

"It  was  necessary  to  see  you  personally,  Mr.  Den- 
zil. I  arrived  back  a  few  days  ago,  and  intended 
writing  to  you  when  I  recovered  from  the  fatigue 
of  the  journey.  However,  your  arrival  saves  me 
the  trouble.  Now  I  can  tell  you  all  about  Ferruci, 
if  you  like." 

"Then  tell  me,  Doctor,  if  you  spoke  truly  about 
that  alibi?" 

"Yes,  I  did.  Count  Ferruci  was  with  me  that 
night,  and  stayed  here  until  the  next  morning." 

"What  time  did  he  arrive?" 

"About  ten  o'clock,  or,  to  be  precise,"  said  Jorce, 
"about  ten-thirty." 

"Ah!"  cried  Lucian  exultantly,  "then  Ferruci 
must  have  been  the  man  in  the  back  yard!" 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  223 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Jorce  in 
a  puzzled  tone. 

"Why,  that  Count  Ferruci  has  had  to  do  with  a 
crime  committed  some  months  ago  in  Pimlico.  A 
man  called  Mark  Vrain  was  murdered,  as  you  may 
have  seen  in  the  papers,  Doctor,  and  I  believe 
Ferruci  murdered  him." 

"If  I  remember  rightly,"  said  Jorce  with  calm- 
ness, "the  man  in  question  was  murdered  shortly 
before  midnight  on  Christmas  Eve.  If  that  is  so, 
Ferruci  could  not  have  killed  him,  because,  as  I 
said  before,  he  was  here  at  half-past  ten  on  that 
night." 

"I  don't  say  he  actually  killed  the  man,"  ex- 
plained Lucian  eagerly,  "but  he  certainly  employed 
some  one  to  strike  the  blow,  else  what  was  he  doing 
in  the  Jersey  Street  yard  on  that  night?  You  can 
say  what  you  like,  Dr.  Jorce,  but  that  man  is  guilty 
of  Mark  Vrain's  death." 

"No,"  replied  Jorce  coolly,  "he's  not,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  Vrain  is  not  dead." 

"Not  dead?"  repeated  Lucian,  recalling  Diana's 
belief. 

"No !  For  the  last  few  months  Mark  Vrain,  un- 
der the  name  of  Michael  Clear,  has  been  in  this 
asylum !" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  DARK  PLOT 

"So  VRAIN  is  alive,  after  all !"  was  Lucian's  com- 
ment on  the  speech  of  Jorce,  "and  he  is  here  under 
your  charge?  Jove!  it's  wonderful!  Diana  was 
right,  after  all!" 

"Diana?  Who  is  Diana?"  queried  Jorce,  then 
held  up  his  hand  to  stop  his  visitor  from  replying. 
"Wait!  I  know!  Vrain  mentioned  his  daughter 
Diana." 

"Yes,  she  is  the  daughter  of  Vrain,  and  she  be- 
lieves her  father  to  be  alive." 

"On  what  grounds?" 

"Because  the  dead  man,  whom,  until  lately,  she 
believed  to  be  Mr.  Vrain,  had  one  of  his  little 
fingers  missing.  That  fact  came  to  her  knowledge 
only  a  week  ago.  When  it  did,  she  declared  that 
the  deceased  could  not  be  her  father." 

"H'm !"  said  Jorce  thoughtfully,  "I  am  quite  in 
the  dark  as  to  why  Mr.  Vrain  was  put  under  my 
charge." 

"Because  Ferruci  wished  to  marry  his  widow." 

"I  see !  Ferruci  substituted  another  man  for  my 
patient  and  had  him  killed." 

224 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  225 

"Evidently,"  replied  Lucian;  "but  I  am  almost 
as  much  in  the  dark  as  you  are,  Dr.  Jorce.  Tell  me 
how  Vrain  came  to  be  placed  here,  and,  exchanging 
confidence  for  confidence,  I'll  let  you  know  all  I 
have  discovered  since  the  death  of  the  man  in  Gen- 
eva Square  who  called  himself  Berwin." 

"That  is  a  fair  offer,"  replied  Jorce,  clearing  his 
throat,  "and  one  which  I  willingly  accept.  I  do  not 
wish  you  to  think  that  I  am  in  league  with  Signor 
Ferruci.  What  I  did  was  done  honestly.  I  am  not 
afraid  of  telling  my  story." 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  Lucian  heartily.  "I 
guessed  that  Ferruci  had  not  trusted  you  altogether, 
from  the  time  he  feigned  that  your  evidence  was 
needed  only  to  decide  a  bet." 

"Trust  me !"  echoed  Jorce,  with  scorn.  "He  nev- 
er trusted  me  at  all.  He  is  too  cunning  for  that. 
However,  you  shall  hear." 

"I'm  all  attention,  Doctor." 

"A  week  before  last  Christmas,  Signor  Ferruci 
called  to  see  me,  and  explained  that  he  was  inter- 
ested in  a  gentleman  called  Michael  Clear,  whom  he 
had  met  some  years  before  in  Italy.  Clear,  he  said, 
had  been  most  intimate  with  him,  but  later  on  had 
indulged  so  much  in  the  morphia  habit  that  their 
friendship  had  terminated  with  high  words.  After- 
wards, Clear  had  returned  to  England,  and  Ferruci 
lost  sight  of  him  for  some  months.  Then  he  visited 
England,  and  one  day  found  Clear  in  the  street, 
looking  ill  and  wretched.  The  man  had  become  a 
confirmed  morphiamaniac,  and  the  habit  had  weak- 


226  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

ened  his  brain.  The  Count  pitied  the  poor  creature, 
according  to  his  own  story,  and  took  him  to  his 
home,  the  whereabouts  of  which  Clear  was  happily 
able  to  remember." 

"Where  is  the  house?"  asked  Lucian,  taking  out 
his  pocketbook. 

"Number  30,  St.  Bertha's  Road,  Bayswater," 
replied  Jorce;  and  when  the  barrister,  for  his  pri- 
vate information,  had  made  a  note  of  the  address, 
he  continued:  "It  then  appeared  that  Clear  was 
married.  The  wife  told  Ferruci  that  she  was  afraid 
of  her  husband,  who,  in  his  fits  of  drink — for  he 
drank  likewise — often  threatened  to  kill  her.  They 
had  lost  their  money,  and  the  poor  woman  was  at 
her  wit's  end  what  to  do.  Ferruci  explained  to  me 
that  out  of  friendship  he  was  most  anxious  to  be- 
friend Clear,  and  stated  that  Mrs.  Clear  wished 
to  get  her  husband  cured.  He  proposed,  therefore, 
to  put  Clear  into  my  asylum,  and  pay  on  behalf  of 
the  wife." 

"A  very  ingenious  and  plausible  plan,"  said  Lu- 
cian. "Well,  Doctor,  and  what  did  you  say?" 

"I  agreed,  of  course,  provided  the  man  was  cer- 
tified insane  in  the  usual  way.  Ferruci  then  de- 
parted, promising  to  bring  Mrs.  Clear  to  see  me. 
He  brought  her  late  on  Christmas  Eve,  at  ten " 

"Ah !"  interrupted  Lucian,  "did  she  wear  a  black 
gauze  veil  with  velvet  spots?"  -  • 

"She  did,  Mr.  Denzil.    Have  you  met  her?" 

"No,  but  I  have  heard  of  her.  She  was  the 
woman  who  visited  Wrent  in  Jersey  Street.  No 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  227 

doubt  Fernici  was  waiting  for  her  in  the  back 
yard." 

"Who  is  Wrent?"  asked  Jorce,  looking  puzzled. 

"Don't  you  know  the  name,  Doctor?" 

"No." 

"Did  Mrs.  Clear  never  mention  it?" 

"Never." 

"Nor  Ferruci?" 

"No.  I  never  heard  the  name  before,"  replied 
Jorce  complacently. 

"Strange !"  said  Denzil  reflectively.  "Yet  Wrent 
seems  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  plot.  Well, 
never  mind,  just  now.  Please  continue,  my  dear 
Doctor.  What  did  Mrs.  Clear  say?" 

"Oh,  she  repeated  Ferruci's  story,  amplified  in 
a  feminine  fashion.  She  was  afraid  of  Michael, 
who,  when  excited  with  morphia  or  drink,  would 
snatch  up  a  knife  to  attempt  her  life.  Twice  she 
had  disarmed  him,  and  now  she  was  tired  and 
frightened.  She  was  willing  for  him  to  go  into  my 
asylum  since  Count  Ferruci  had  so  kindly  consented 
to  bear  the  expense,  but  she  wished  to  give  him  one 
more  chance.  Then,  as  it  was  late,  she  stayed  here 
all  night.  So  did  the  Count,  and  on  Christmas  Day 
they  went  away." 

"When  did  they  come  back?" 

"About  a  fortnight  later,  and  they  brought  with 
them  the  man  they  both  called  Michael  Clear." 

"What  is  he  like?" 

"An  old  man  with  a  white  beard." 

"Is  he  mad?"  asked  Lucian  bluntly. 


228  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"He  is  not  mad  now,  only  weak  in  the  head," 
replied  Jorce  professionally,  "but  he  was  certainly 
mad  when  he  arrived.  The  man's  brain  is  wrecked 
by  morphia." 

"Not  by  drink?" 

"No;  although  it  suited  Mrs.  Clear  and  Ferruci 
to  say  so.  But  Clear — as  I  may  call  him — was  very 
violent,  and  quite  justified  Mrs.  dear's  desire  to 
sequester  him.  She  told  me  that  he  often  imagined 
himself  to  be  other  people.  Sometimes  he  would 
feign  to  be  Napoleon;  again  the  Pope;  so  when 
he — a  week  after  he  was  in  the  asylum — insisted 
that  he  was  Mark  Vrain,  I  put  it  down  to  his  de- 
lusion." 

"But  how  could  you  think  he  had  come  by  the 
name,  Doctor?" 

"My  dear  sir,  at  that  time  the  papers  were  full 
of  the  case  and  its  mystery,  and  as  we  have  a  read- 
ing-room in  this  asylum,  I  fancied  that  Clear  had 
seen  the  accounts,  and  had — as  a  delusion — called 
himself  Vrain.  Afterwards  he  fell  into  a  kind  of 
comatose  state,  and  for  weeks  said  very  little.  He 
was  most  abject  and  frightened,  and  responded  in 
a  timid  sort  of  way  to  the  name  of  Clear.  Natu- 
rally this  confirmed  me  in  my  belief  that  his  calling 
himself  Vrain  was  a  delusion.  Then  he  grew  bet- 
ter, and  one  day  told  me  that  his  name  was  Vrain. 
Of  course,  I  did  not  believe  him.  Still,  he  was  so 
persistent  about  the  matter  that  I  thought  there 
might  be  something  in  it,  and  spoke  to  Ferruci." 

"What  did  he  szlv?" 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  229 

"He  denied  that  the  man's  name  was  anything 
but  Clear.  That  the  wife  and  two  doctors — for 
the  poor  soul  had  been  duly  certified  as  insane — 
had  put  him  into  the  asylum;  and  altogether  per- 
sisted so  strongly  in  his  original  story  that  I  thought 
it  was  absurd  to  put  a  crazy  man's  delusion  against 
a  sane  man's  tale.  Besides,  everything  regarding 
the  certificate  and  sequestrating  of  Clear  had  been 
quite  legal.  Two  doctors — and  very  rightly,  too — 
had  certified  to  the  insanity  of  the  man;  and  his 
wife — as  I  then  believed  Mrs.  Clear  to  be — had 
consented  to  his  detention." 

"What  made  you  suspicious  that  there  might  be 
something  wrong?"  asked  Lucian  eagerly. 

"My  visit  to  meet  you,  at  Ferruci's  request,  to 
prove  the  alibi,"  responded  Jorce.  "I  thought  it 
was  strange,  and  afterwards,  when  a  detective 
named  Mr.  Link,  called,  1  thought  it  was  stranger 
still." 

"But  you  did  not  see  Link?" 

"No.  I  was  in  Italy  then,  but  I  heard  of  his 
visit.  In  Florence  I  heard  from  a  most  accomplished 
gossip  the  whole  story  of  Mr.  Vrain's  marriage  and 
the  prior  engagement  of  Mrs.  Vrain  to  Ferruci.  I 
guessed  that  there  might  be  some  plot,  but  I  could 
not  quite  understand  how  it  was  carried  out,  save 
that  Vrain — as  I  then  began  to  believe  Clear  to  be 
— had  been  placed  in  my  asylum  under  a  false  name. 
On  my  return  I  intended  to  see  you,  when  I  was 
laid  up  in  Florence  with  the  fever.  Now,  however, 


230  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

that  we  have  met,  tell  me  so  much  of  the  story  as 
you  know.  Afterwards  we  shall  see  Mr.  Vraln." 

Lucian  was  willing  enough  to  show  his  confi- 
dence in  Jorce,  the  more  so  as  he  needed  his  help. 
Forthwith  he  told  him  all  he  knew,  from  the  time 
he  had  met  Michael  Clear,  alias  Mark  Berwin,  alias 
Mark  Vrain,  in  Geneva  Square,  down  to  the  mo- 
ment he  had  presented  himself  for  information  at 
the  gates  of  "The  Haven."  Doctor  Jorce  listened 
with  the  greatest  attention,  his  little  face  puckered 
up  into  a  grim  smile,  and  shook  his  head  when  the 
barrister  ended  his  recital. 

"A  bad  world,  Mr.  Denzil,  a  bad  world!"  he 
said,  rising.  "Come  with  me,  and  I'll  take  you  to 
see  my  patient." 

"But  what  do  you  think  of  it  all?"  said  Denzil, 
eager  for  some  comment. 

"I'll  tell  you  that,"  rejoined  Jorce,  "when  you 
have  heard  the  story  of  Mr.  Vrain." 

In  a  few  minutes  Lucian  was  led  by  his  guide 
into  a  pleasant  room,  with  French  windows  open- 
ing on  to  a  wide  verandah,  and  a  sunny  lawn  set 
round  with  flowers.  Books  were  arranged  on  shelves 
round  the  walls,  newspapers  and  magazines  were 
on  the  table,  and  near  the  window,  in  a  comfortable 
chair,  sat  an  old  man  with  a  volume  in  his  hand. 
As  Jorce  entered  he  stood  up  and  shuffled  forward 
with  a  senile  smile  of  delight.  Evidently — and 
with  reason,  poor  soul — he  considered  the  doctor 
his  very  good  friend. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  231 

"Well,  well !"  said  the  cheery  Jorce,  "and  how 
are  you  to-day,  Mr.  Vrain?" 

"I  feel  very  well,"  replied  Vrain  in  a  soft,  weak 
voice.  "Who  is  this,  Doctor?" 

"A  young  friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Vrain.  He  wishes 
to  hear  your  story." 

"Alas!  alas!"  sighed  Vrain,  his  eyes  filling  with 
tears,  "a  sad  story,  sir." 

The  father  of  Diana  was  of  middle  height,  with 
white  hair,  and  a  long  white  beard  which  swept  his 
chest.  On  his  cheek  Lucian  saw  the  cicatrice  of 
which  Diana  had  spoken,  and  mainly  by  which  the 
dead  man  had  been  falsely  identified  as  Vrain.  He 
was  very  like  Clear  in  figure  and  manner;  but,  of 
course,  the  resemblance  in  the  face  was  not  very- 
close,  as  Clear  had  been  clean  shaven,  whereas  the 
real  Vrain  wore  a  beard.  The  eyes  were  dim  and 
weak-looking,  and  altogether  Lucian  saw  that  Vrain 
was  not  fitted  to  battle  with  the  world  in  any  way, 
and  quite  weak  enough  to  become  the  prey  of  vil- 
lains, as  had  been  his  sad  fate. 

"My  name  is  Mark  Vrain,  young  sir,"  said  he, 
beginning  his  story  without  further  preamble.  "I 
lived  in  Berwin  Manor,  Bath,  with  my  wife  Lydia, 
but  she  treated  me  badly  by  letting  another  man 
love  her,  and  I  left  her.  Oh,  yes,  sir,  I  left  her.  I 
went  away  to  Salisbury,  and  was  very  happy  there 
with  my  books,  but,  alas !  I  took  morph " 

"Vrain !"  said  Jorce,  holding  up  his  finger,  "no  1" 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  said  the  old  man,  with 
a  watery  smile,  "I  mean  I  was  very  happy  there. 


232  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

But  Signer  Ferruci,  a  black-hearted  villain" — his 
face  grew  dark  as  he  mentioned  the  name — "found 
me  out  and  made  me  come  with  him  to  London. 
He  kept  me  there  for  months,  and  then  he  brought 
me  here." 

"Kept  you  where,  Mr.  Vrain?"  asked  Lucian 
gently. 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  a  vacant  eye. 
"I  don't  know,"  he  said  in  a  dull  voice. 

"You  came  here  from  Bayswater,"  hinted  Jorce. 

"Yes,  yes,  Bayswater!"  cried  Vrain,  growing  ex- 
cited. "I  was  there  with  a  woman  they  called  my 
wife.  She  was  not  my  wife !  My  wife  is  fair,  this 
woman  was  dark.  Her  name  was  Maud  Clear: 
my  wife's  name  is  Lydia." 

"Did  Mrs.  Clear  say  you  were  her  husband, 
Michael?" 

"Yes.  She  called  me  Michael  Clear,  and  brought 
me  to  stay  with  the  doctor.  But  I  am  not  Michael 
Clear!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  OTHER  MAN'S  WIFE 

As  SOON  as  Lucian  arrived  back  in  his  rooms  he 
sat  down  at  his  desk  and  wrote  a  long  letter  to 
Diana,  giving  a  full  account  of  his  extraordinary 
discovery  of  her  father  in  Jorce's  asylum,  and  ad- 
vising her  to  come  up  at  once  to  London. 

When  he  posted  this — which  he  did  the  same 
night — he  sighed  to  think  it  was  not  a  love  letter. 
He  could  have  covered  reams  of  paper  with  words 
of  passion  and  adoration ;  he  could  have  poured  out 
his  whole  soul  at  the  feet  of  his  divinity,  telling  her 
of  his  love,  his  aspirations,  his  hopes  and  fears. 
No  doubt,  from  a  common-sense  view,  the  letter 
would  have  been  silly  enough,  but  it  would  have 
relieved  his  mind  and  completed  his  happiness  of 
knowing  that  he  loved  and  was  beloved. 

But  in  place  of  writing  thus,  he  was  compelled 
by  his  promise  to  Diana  to  pen  a  description  of 
his  late  discovery,  and  interesting  as  the  case  was 
now  growing,  he  found  it  irksome  to  detail  the  in- 
cident of  the  afternoon.  He  wished  to  be  a  lover, 
not  a  detective. 

So  absent-minded  and  distraught  was  Lucian, 
233 


234  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

that  Miss  Greeb,  who  had  long  suspected  some- 
thing was  wrong  with  him,  spoke  that  very  evening 
about  himself.  She  declared  that  Lucian  was  work- 
ing too  hard,  that  he  needed  another  rest,  although 
he  had  just  returned  from  the  country,  and  recom- 
mended a  sleeping  draught.  Finally  she  produced 
a  letter  which  had  just  arrived,  and  as  it  was  in  a 
female  hand,  Miss  Greeb  watched  its  effect  on  her 
admired  lodger  with  the  keen  eyes  of  a  jealous 
woman.  When  she  saw  him  flush  and  seize  it  ea- 
gerly, casting,  meanwhile,  an  impatient  look  on  her 
to  leave  the  room,  she  knew  the  truth  at  once,  and 
retired  hurriedly  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  shed 
floods  of  tears. 

"I  might  have  guessed  it,"  gasped  Miss  Greeb 
to  a  comfortable  cat  which  lay  selfishly  before  the 
fire.  "He's  far  too  good-looking  not  to  be  snapped 
up.  He'll  be  leaving  me  and  setting  up  house  with 
that  other  woman.  I  only  hope  she'll  do  for  him  as 
well  as  I  have  done.  I  wonder  if  she's  beautiful 
and  rich.  Oh,  how  dreadful  it  all  is!"  But  the 
cat  made  no  comment  on  this  tearful  address — 
not  as  much  as  a  mew.  It  rolled  over  into  a  warmer 
place  and  went  to  sleep  again.  Cats  are  particu- 
larly selfish  animals. 

Two  days  afterwards  Miss  Greeb  opened  the 
door  to  a  tall  and  beautiful  lady,  who  asked  for 
Mr.  Denzil,  and  was  shown  into  his  sitting-room. 
With  keen  instinct,  Miss  Greeb  decided  that  this 
was  the  woman  who  had  taken  possession  of  Lu- 
cian's  heart,  and  being  a  just  little  creature,  in  spite 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  235 

of  her  jealousy,  was  obliged  to  admit  that  the  visitor 
was  as  handsome  as  a  picture.  Then,  seeing  that 
there  was  no  chance  for  her  beside  this  splendid 
lady,  she  consoled  herself  with  a  dismal  little  prov- 
erb, and  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  it  would 
be  necessary  to  put  a  ticket  in  the  parlour  window. 
Meanwhile,  to  have  some  one  on  whose  bosom  she 
could  weep,  Miss  Greeb  went  round  to  see  Mrs. 
Bensusan,  leaving  Diana  in  possession  of  Lucian, 
and  the  cat  sole  occupant  of  the  kitchen. 

In  the  drawing-room,  on  the  front  floor,  Diana, 
with  her  eyes  shining  like  two  stars,  was  talking  to 
Lucian.  She  had  come  up  at  once  on  receipt  of 
his  letter;  she  had  been  to  Hampstead,  she  had 
seen  her  father,  and  now  she  was  telling  Lucian 
about  the  visit. 

"He  knew  me  at  once,  poor  dear,"  she  said  rap- 
idly, "and  asked  me  if  I  had  been  out,  just  as  if 
I'd  left  the  house  for  a  visit  and  come  back.  Ah !" 
— she  shook  her  head  and  sighed — "I  am  afraid 
he'll  never  be  quite  himself  again." 

"What  does  Jorce  think?" 

"He  says  that  father  can  be  discharged  as  cured, 
and  is  going  to  see  about  it  for  me.  Of  course, 
he  will  never  be  quite  sane,  but  he  will  never  be 
violent  so  long  as  morphia  and  drugs  of  that  sort 
are  kept  from  him.  As  soon  as  he  is  discharged  I 
shall  take  him  back  to  Bath,  and  put  him  in  charge 
of  Miss  Barbar;  then  I  shall  return  to  town,  and 
we  must  expose  the  whole  conspiracy!" 

"Conspiracy?" 


236  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"What  else  do  you  call  it,  Lucian  ?  That  woman 
and  Ferruci  have  planned  and  carried  it  out  be- 
tween them.  They  put  my  father  into  the  asylum, 
and  made  another  man  pass  as  him,  in  order  to  get 
the  assurance  money.  As  their  tool  did  not  die 
quickly  enough,  they  killed  him." 

"No,  Diana.  Both  Lvdia  and  Ferruci  have 
proved  beyond  all  doubt  that  tney  were  not  in  Pim- 
lico  at  the  hour  of  the  death.  I  believe  they  con- 
trived this  conspiracy,  but  I  don't  believe  they  mur- 
dered Clear." 

"Well,  we  shall  see  what  defence  they  make.  But 
one  thing  is  certain,  Lucian — Lydia  will  have  to 
disgorge  the  assurance  money." 

"Yes,  she  certainly  will,  and  I've  no  doubt  the 
Assurance  Company  will  prosecute  her  for  fraud 
in  obtaining  it.  I  shall  see  Ferruci  to-morrow  and 
force  him  to  confess  his  putting  your  father  in  the 
asylum." 

"No!"  said  Diana,  shaking  her  head.  "Don't 
do  that  until  you  have  more  evidence  against  him." 

"I  think  the  evidence  of  Jorce  is  strong  enough. 
I  suppose  you  mean  the  evidence  of  Mrs.  Clear?" 

"Yes;  although  for  her  own  sake  I  don't  suppose 
she  will  speak." 

Lucian  nodded.  "I  thought  of  that  also,"  he 
said,  "and  yesterday  I  went  to  St.  Bertha  Street, 
Bayswater,  to  see  her.  But  I  found  that  she  had 
moved,  and  no  one  knew  where  she  was.  I  expect, 
having  received  her  price  for  the  conspiracy,  she 
has  left  London.  However,  I  put  an  advertise- 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  237 

ment  in  the  papers,  saying  if  she  called  on  me  here 
she  would  hear  of  something  to  her  advantage.  It 
is  in  the  papers  this  morning." 

"I  doubt  if  she  will  call,"  said  Diana  seriously. 
"What  about  the  promised  revelation  of  Rhoda?" 

"I  believe  that  girl  is  deceiving  me,"  cried  Lu- 
cian  angrily.  "I  went  round  to  Jersey  Street,  as  she 
asked  me,  and  only  saw  Mrs.  Bensusan,  who  said 
that  Rhoda  was  out  and  would  not  be  back  for  some 
time.  Then  I  had  to  wait  for  you  here  and  tell 
you  all  about  your  father,  so  the  thing  slipped  my 
memory.  I  have  not  been  near  the  place  since,  but 
I'll  go  round  there  to-night.  Whatever  is  Miss 
Greeb  thinking  of?"  cried  Lucian,  breaking  off 
quickly.  "That  front  door  bell  has  been  ringing 
for  at  least  five  minutes!" 

To  Diana's  amusement,  Lucian  went  and  shouted 
down  the  stairs  to  Miss  Greeb,  but  as  no  reply 
came,  and  the  bell  was  still  ringing  furiously,  he 
was  obliged  to  open  the  door  himself.  On  the  step 
there  stood  a  little  woman  in  a  tailor-made  brown 
frock,  a  plainly  trimmed  brown  straw  hat  with  a 
black  gauze  velvet-spotted  veil.  At  once  Denzil 
guessed  who  she  was. 

"You  are  Mrs.  Clear?"  he  said,  delighted  that 
she  had  replied  so  quickly  to  his  advertisement,  for 
it  had  only  that  morning  appeared  in  the  newspa- 
pers. 

"Yes,  I  am,"  answered  the  woman,  in  a  quick, 
sharp  voice.  "Are  you  the  L.  D.  who  advertised 
forme?" 


238  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Yes.  Come  upstairs.  I  have  much  to  say  to  you." 

"Diana,"  said  Lucian,  on  entering  the  room  with 
his  prize,  "let  me  introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Clear." 

"Mrs.  Clear!  Are  you  the  wife  of  the  man  who 
was  murdered  in  the  house  opposite?" 

Mrs.  Clear  uttered  a  cry  of  astonishment,  and 
turned  as  if  to  retreat.  But  Denzil  was  between  her 
and  the  door,  so  she  saw  that  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  outface  the  situation.  As  though  she 
found  it  difficult  to  breathe,  she  threw  up  her  veil, 
and  Diana  beheld  a  thin  white  face  with  two  bril- 
liant black  eyes. 

"This  is  a  trap,"  said  Mrs.  Clear,  hoarsely,  look- 
ing from  the  one  to  the  other.  "Who  are  you?" 

"I,"  said  Lucian,  politely,  "I  am  the  man  who 
met  your  husband  before " 

"My  husband!  I  have  my  husband  in  an  asy- 
lum. You  can't  have  met  him !" 

"You  are  telling  a  falsehood,"  said  Diana  fierce- 
ly. "The  gentleman  in  the  asylum  of  Dr.  Jorce  is 
not  your  husband,  but  my  father!" 

"Your  father?    And  who  are  you?" 

"I  am  Diana  Vrain." 

Mrs.  Clear  gave  a  screech,  and  dropped  back  on 
to  the  sofa,  staring  at  Diana  with  wide-open  and 
terrified  eyes. 

"And  now,  Mrs.  Clear,  I  see  you  realise  the  situ- 
ation," Lucian  said  coldly.  "You  must  confess  your 
share  in  this  conspiracy." 

"What  conspiracy?"  she  interrupted  furiously. 

"The  putting  of  Mr.  Vrain  into  an  asylum,  and 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  239 

the  passing  off  of  your  husband,  Michael  Clear,  as 
him." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"Come,  now,  you  talk  nonsense !  If  you  refuse 
to  speak  I'll  have  you  arrested  at  once." 

"Arrest  me!"  She  bounded  off  the  sofa  with 
flashing  eyes. 

"Yes,  on  a  charge  of  conspiracy.  It  is  no  use 
your  getting  angry,  Mrs.  Clear,  for  it  won't  im- 
prove your  position.  We — that  is,  this  lady  and 
myself — wish  to  know,  firstly,  how  your  husband 
came  to  be  masquerading  as  Mr.  Vrain;  secondly, 
where  we  can  find  the  man  called  Wrent,  who  em- 
ployed your  husband;  and  thirdly,  Mrs.  Clear,  we 
wish  to  know,  and  the  law  wishes  to  know,  who 
killed  your  husband." 

"I  don't  know  who  killed  him,"  said  the  woman, 
looking  rather  afraid,  "but  I  believe  Wrent  did." 

"Who  is  Wrent?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  don't  know  many  things,"  said  Diana,  tak- 
ing part  in  the  conversation,  "but  you  must  tell 
us  what  you  do  know,  otherwise  I  shall  call  in  a 
policeman  and  have  you  arrested." 

"You  can't  prove  anything  against  me." 

"I  think  I  can,"  said  Lucian  in  the  most  cheer- 
ful manner.  "I  can  prove  that  you  were  in  No.  13 
of  this  Square,  seeing  your  husband,  for  I  found 
on  the  fence  dividing  the  back  yard  of  that  house 
from  one  in  Jersey  Street  a  scrap  of  a  veil  such 
as  you  wear.  Also  the  landlady  and  servant  can 


24o  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

prove  that  you  called  on  Mr.  Wrent  several  times, 
and  were  with  him  on  the  night  of  the  murder.  Then 
there  is  the  evidence  of  your  cloak,  which  you  left 
behind,  and  which  Wrent  gave  to  the  servant 
Rhoda.  Also  the  evidence  of  Signor  Ferruci " 

"Ferruci !  What  has  he  said  about  me?" 

Lucian  saw  that  revenge  might  make  the  woman 
speak,  so  he  lied  in  the  calmest  manner  to  get  at 
the  truth.  "Ferruci  says  that  he  contrived  the 
whole  conspiracy." 

"So  he  did,"  said  Mrs.  Clear,  with  a  nod. 

"And  took  you  to  'The  Haven,'  at  Hampstead, 
on  Christmas  Eve." 

"That's  true.  He  took  me  from  Wrent's  house 
in  Jersey  Street.  You  need  not  go  on,  Mr.  L.  D. 
I  admit  the  whole  business." 

"You  do?"  cried  Lucian  and  Diana  together. 

"Yes,  if  only  to  spite  that  old  villain  Wrent,  who 
has  not  paid  me  the  money  he  promised." 

Before  Lucian  and  Miss  Vrain  could  express 
their  pleasure  at  Mrs.  Clear  coming  to  this  sensible 
conclusion,  the  door  opened  suddenly,  and  little 
Miss  Greeb,  in  a  wonderful  state  of  agitation, 
tripped  in. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Denzill  I've  just  been  to  Mrs.  Ben- 
susan's,  and  Rhoda's  run  away!" 

"Runaway!" 

"Yes !  She  hasn't  been  back  all  day,  and  left  a 
note  for  Mrs.  Bensusan  saying  she  was  going  to 
hide,  because  she  was  afraid." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A  CONFESSION 

Now,  indeed,  Lucian  had  his  hands  full.  Rhoda, 
the  red-headed  servant  of  Mrs.  Bensusan,  had  run 
away  on  the  plea  that  she  was  afraid  of  something 
— what  she  did  not  explain  in  the  note  she  left  be- 
hind her,  and  it  was  necessary  that  she  should  be 
discovered,  and  forced  into  confessing  what  she 
knew  of  the  conspiracy  and  murder.  Mrs.  Clear, 
not  having  been  paid  her  hush  money,  had  betrayed 
the  confidence  and  misdeeds  of  Ferruci,  thereby  re- 
vealing an  extent  of  villainy  for  which  neither 
Diana  nor  Lucian  was  prepared.  Now  the  Count 
had  to  be  seen  and  brought  to  book  for  his  doings, 
Lydia  informed  that  her  husband  was  in  the  asy- 
lum, and  Vrain  himself  had  to  be  released  in  due 
form  from  his  legal  imprisonment.  How  Lucian, 
even  with  the  assistance  of  Diana,  could  deal  with 
all  these  matters,  he  did  not  know. 

"Why  not  see  Mr.  Link?"  suggested  Diana, 
when  Mrs.  Clear  had  departed,  after  making  a 
clean  breast  of  the  nefarious  transactions  in  which 
she  had  been  involved.  "He  may  take  the  case 
in  hand  again." 

"No  doubt,"  responded  Denzil  drily,  "but  I  am 
241 


242  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

not  very  keen  to  hand  it  over  to  him,  seeing  that  he 
has  abandoned  it  twice.  Again,  if  I  call  in  the  po- 
lice, it  is  all  over  with  Lydia  and  the  Count.  They 
will  be  arrested  and  punished." 

"For  the  murder  of  Clear?" 

"Perhaps,  if  it  can  be  proved  that  they  have 
anything  to  do  with  it;  certainly  for  the  conspiracy 
to  get  the  assurance  money  by  the  feigned  death  of 
your  father." 

"Well,"  said  Diana  coldly,  "and  why  should  they 
not  receive  the  reward  of  their  deeds?" 

"Quite  so;  but  the  question  is,  do  you  wish  any 
scandal?" 

Diana  was  silent.  She  had  not  looked  at  the 
matter  from  this  point  of  view.  It  was  true  what 
Lucian  said.  If  the  police  took  up  the  case  again, 
Lydia  and  her  accomplice  would  be  arrested,  and 
the  whole  sordid  story  of  their  doings  would  be  in 
the  papers. 

Diana  was  a  proud  woman,  and  winced  at  the 
idea  of  such  publicity.  It  would  be  as  well  to  avoid 
proceeding  to  such  extremities.  If  the  assurance 
money  was  returned  by  Lydia,  she  would  be  re- 
duced to  her  former  estate,  and  by  timely  flight 
might  escape  the  vengeance  of  the  defrauded  com- 
pany. After  all,  she  was  the  wife  of  Vrain,  and 
little  as  Diana  liked  her,  she  did  not  wish  to  see 
the  woman  who  was  so  closely  related  to  the 
wronged  man  put  in  prison ;  not  for  her  own  sake, 
but  for  the  sake  of  the  name  she  so  unworthily 
bore. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  243 

"I  leave  it  in  your  hands,"  said  Diana  to  Lucian, 
who  was  watching  her  closely. 

"Very  good,"  replied  Denzil.  'Then  I  think  it 
will  be  best  for  me  to  see  Ferruci  first,  and  hear 
his  confession ;  afterwards  call  on  Mrs.  Vrain,  and 
learn  what  she  has  to  say.  Then " 

"Well,"  said  Diana,  curiously,  "what  then?" 

"I  will  be  guided  by  circumstances.  In  the  mean- 
time, for  the  sake  of  your  name,  we  had  better  keep 
the  matter  as  quiet  as  possible." 

"Mrs.  Clear  may  speak  out." 

"Mrs.  Clear  won't  speak,"  said  Denzil  grimly. 
"She  will  keep  quiet  for  her  own  sake;  and  as 
Rhoda  has  left  Jersey  Street,  there  will  be  no  dan- 
ger of  trouble  from  that  quarter.  First,  I'll  see 
Lydia  and  the  Count,  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this 
conspiracy;  then  I'll  set  the  police  on  Rhoda's  track, 
that  she  may  be  arrested  and  made  to  confess  her 
knowledge  of  the  murder." 

"Do  you  think  she  knows  anything?" 

"I  think  she  knows  everything,"  replied  Lucian 
with  emphasis.  "That  is  why  she  has  run  away. 
If  we  capture  her,  and  force  her  to  speak,  we  may 
be  able  to  arrest  Wrent." 

"Why  Wrent?"  asked  Diana. 

"Have  you  forgotten  what  Mrs.  Clear  said?  I 
agree  with  her  that  he  is  the  assassin,  although  we 
can't  prove  it  as  yet." 

"But  who  is  Wrent?" 

"Ah!"  said  Lucian,  significantly,  "that  is  just 
what  I  wish  to  find  out." 


244  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

The  upshot  of  this  interview  was  that  early  the 
next  morning  Denzil  went  to  the  chambers  of  Fer- 
ruci,  in  Marquis  Street,  and  informed  the  servant 
that  he  wanted  particularly  to  see  the  Count. 

At  first  the  Italian,  being  still  in  bed — for  he 
was  a  late  riser — did  not  incline  to  grant  his  visitor 
an  interview;  but  on  second  thoughts  he  ordered 
Lucian  to  be  shown  into  the  sitting-room,  and  short- 
ly afterwards  joined  him  there  wrapped  in  a  dress- 
ing-gown. He  welcomed  the  barrister  with  a  smi- 
ling nod,  and  having  some  instinct  that  Lucian  came 
on  an  unpleasant  errand,  he  did  not  offer  him  his 
hand.  From  the  first  the  two  men  were  on  their 
guard  against  one  another. 

"Good-morning,  sir,"  said  Ferruci  in  his  best 
English.  "May  I  ask  why  you  take  me  from  my 
bed  so  early?" 

"To  tell  you  a  story." 

"About  my  friend  Dr.  Jorce  saying  I  was  with 
him  on  that  night?"  sneered  the  Count. 

"Partly,  and  partly  about  a  lady  you  know." 

Ferruci  frowned.    "You  speak  of  Mrs.  Vrain?" 

"No,"  replied  Lucian  coolly.  "I  speak  of  Mrs. 
Clear." 

At  the  mention  of  this  name,  which  was  the  last 
one  he  expected  to  hear  his  visitor  pronounce,  the 
Italian,  in  spite  of  his  coolness  and  cunning,  could 
not  forbear  a  start. 

"Mrs.  Clear?"  he  repeated.  "And  what  do  you 
know  of  Mrs.  Clear?" 

"As  much  as  Dr.  Jorce  could  tell  me,  Count." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  245 

Ferruci's  brow  cleared.  "Then  you  know  I  pay 
for  keeping  her  miserable  husband  with  my  friend," 
he  said  composedly.  "It  is  for  her  sake  I  am  so 
kind." 

"Rather  it  is  for  your  own  you  are  so  cunning." 

"Cunning!  A  most  strange  word  for  my  good- 
ness," said  the  Count  coolly. 

"The  most  fit  word,  you  mean,"  replied  Lucian, 
impatient  of  this  fencing.  "It  is  no  use  beating 
about  the  bush,  Count.  I  know  that  the  man  you 
keep  in  the  asylum  is  not  Clear,  but  Mark  Vrain." 

"La!  la!  la!  You  talk  great  humbug.  Mr. 
Vrain  is  dead  and  buried !" 

"He  is  not  dead,"  answered  Lucian  resolutely, 
"and  the  man  who  was  buried  under  his  name  is 
Michael  Clear,  the  husband  of  the  woman  who  told 
me  all." 

Ferruci,  who  had  been  pacing  impatiently  up  and 
down  the  room,  stopped  short,  with  a  nervous 
laugh. 

"This  is  most  amusing,"  he  said,  with  an  emo- 
tion he  could  not  conceal  despite  his  self-control. 
"Mrs.  Clear  told  you  all,  eh?  She  told  you  what, 
my  friend?" 

"That  is  the  story  I  have  come  to  tell  you,"  re- 
plied Lucian  sharply. 

"Very  good,"  said  Ferruci,  with  a  shrug.  "I 
wait  to  hear  this  pretty  story,"  and  with  a  frown 
he  threw  himself  into  a  chair  near  Lucian.  Ap- 
parently he  saw  that  he  was  found  out,  for  it  took 
him  all  his  time  to  keep  his  voice  from  trembling 


246  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

and  his  hands  from  shaking.  The  man  was  not  a 
coward,  but  being  thus  brought  face  to  face  with 
a  peril  he  little  expected,  it  was  scarcely  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  he  felt  shaken  and  nervous.  More- 
over, he  knew  little  about  the  English  law,  and 
hardly  guessed  how  his  misdeeds  would  be  pun- 
ished. Still,  he  did  not  surrender  on  the  spot,  but 
listened  quietly  to  Lucian's  story,  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  some  way  of  escape  from  his  awkward  posi- 
tion. 

"The  other  day  I  went  to  Dr.  Jorce's  asylum," 
said  Lucian  slowly,  "and  there  I  discovered — it 
matters  not  how — that  your  friend  Clear  was  Mr. 
Vrain;  also  I  learned  that  he  had  been  placed  in 
the  asylum  by  you  and  Mrs.  Clear.  Jorce  gave  me 
her  address  in  Bayswater,  but  when  I  went  there 
I  could  not  find  her;  she  had  left.  I  then  put  an 
advertisement  in  all  the  papers,  stating  that  if  she 
called  on  me  she  would  hear  of  something  to  her 
advantage.  Now,  Count,  it  appears  that  Mrs.  Clear 
was  in  the  habit  of  looking  into  the  papers  to  see 
if  there  was  any  message  from  yourself,  or  your 
friend  Wrent,  so  she  saw  my  advertisement  at  once, 
and  came  in  person  to  reply  to  it." 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Denzil,"  said  Ferruci  po- 
litely. "I  know  no  one  called  Wrent,  and  he  is 
not  my  friend." 

"We'll  come  to  that  hereafter,"  answered  Lu- 
cian, with  a  shrug.  "In  the  meantime  I'll  proceed 
with  my  story,  which  I  see  interests  you  very  much. 
Well,  Count,  it  seems  that  Michael  Clear  was  an 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  247 

actor,  whe  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  Mr.  Vrain, 
save  that  he  had  not  a  scar  on  his  face.  Vrain,  at 
Bath,  was  always  clean  shaven ;  now  he  wears  a  long 
white  beard,  but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  Clear 
had  a  moustache,  but  when  that  was  shaved  off  he 
looked  exactly  like  Vrain.  For  purposes  of  your 
own,  which  you  can  easily  guess,  you  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  this  man,  a  profligate  and  a  drunkard, 
and  proposed,  for  a  certain  sum  of  money  to  be  paid 
to  his  wife,  that  he,  Michael  Clear,  should  person- 
ate Vrain  and  live  in  the  Silent  House  in  Geneva 
Square,  under  the  name  of  Berwin.  You  knew 
that  Clear  was  slowly  dying  of  consumption  and 
drink,  so  you  trusted  that  he  would  die  as  Vrain; 
that  Mrs.  Vrain — who  I  believe  is  in  the  plot — 
would  recognise  the  corpse  by  the  description  in 
the  newspapers;  and  that,  when  Clear  was  buried 
as  Vrain,  she  would  get  the  assurance  money  and 
marry  you." 

"That  is  clever,"  said  the  Count,  with  a  sneer. 

"But  is  it  true?" 

"You  know  best,"  answered  Lucian,  coolly. 
"However,  all  turned  out  as  you  expected,  for  Clear 
died  as  Vrain — or  rather  was  murdered  at  your 
command,  as  he  did  not  die  quickly  enough — his 
body  was  recognised  by  Mrs.  Vrain,  buried  as  her 
husband,  and  she  got  the  assurance  money.  The 
only  thing  that  remains  for  your  conspiracy  to  be 
entirely  successful  is  that  Mrs.  Vrain  should  marry 
you;  and — as  I  was  told  by  Mr.  Clyne — that  has 
pretty  well  been  arranged." 


248  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Do  you  think,  then,  that  Clyne  would  let  his 
daughter  marry  a  man  who  has  done  all  this?"  said 
Ferruci,  who  was  now  very  pale. 

"I  don't  believe  Clyne  knows  anything  about  it," 
replied  Lucian  coldly.  "You  and  Mrs.  Vrain  made 
up  this  pretty  plot  between  you.  Vrain  himself  told 
me  how  you  decoyed  him  from  Salisbury,  and  took 
him  to  Mrs.  dear's,  in  Bayswater,  where  he  passed 
as  her  husband,  although,  as  she  confesses,  she  kept 
him  as  a  kind  of  prisoner." 

"But  this  is  wrong,"  cried  Ferruci,  trying  to 
laugh.  "This  is  most  foolish.  How  would  a  man, 
of  his  own  will,  pass  as  the  husband  of  a  woman  he 
knew  not?" 

"A  sane  man  would  not;  but  none  knew  better 
than  you,  Count,  that  Vrain  was  not  sane,  and  that 
you  dosed  him  with  drugs,  and  let  Mrs.  Clear  keep 
him  locked  up  in  her  house  until  you  put  him  in 
the  asylum.  Vrain  was  a  puppet  in  your  hands,  and 
you  locked  him  up  in  an  asylum  a  fortnight  after 
the  man  who  personated  him  was  murdered.  You 
intended  to  marry  Mrs.  Vrain  and  keep  her  wretch- 
ed husband  in  that  asylum  all  his  life." 

"The  best  place  for  a  lunatic,"  said  Ferruci. 

"Ah!"  cried  Lucian.  "Then  you  admit  that 
that  Vrain  was  mad  ?" 

"I  admit  nothing,  not  even  that  he  is  alive.  If 
what  you  say  is  true,"  said  the  Italian,  cunningly, 
"how  came  it  that  the  murdered  man  had  the  scar 
on  his  cheek?  He  might  have  been  like  Vrain,  eh, 
but  not  so  much." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  249 

"Mrs.  Clear  explained  that,"  replied  Lucian 
quickly.  "You  made  that  scar,  Count,  with  vitriol, 
or  some  such  stuff.  You  don't  know  chemistry  for 
nothing,  I  see." 

"I  am  quite  ignorant  of  chemistry,"  said  Ferruci 
sullenly. 

"Jorce  heard  a  different  story  in  Florence." 

"In  Florence !  Did  Jorce  ask  about  me  there?" 
said  the  Count  in  alarm. 

"He  did,  and  heard  some  strange  tales,  Count. 
Come,  now,  it  is  no  use  your  trying  to  evade  this 
matter  further.  Jorce  can  prove  that  you  put  Vrain 
into  his  asylum  under  the  name  of  Clear.  Miss 
Vrain  can  prove  that  the  so-called  Clear  is  her  fath- 
er, and  Mrs.  Clear — who  has  turned  Queen's  evi- 
dence— has  exposed  the  whole  of  your  conspiracy. 
The  game's  up,  Count." 

Ferruci  sprang  from  his  seat  and  began  to  walk 
hastily  up  and  down  the  room.  He  looked  haggard 
and  pale,  and  years  older,  as  he  recognised  his  po- 
sition, for  he  saw  very  plainly  that  he  was  trapped, 
and  that  nothing  remained  to  him  but  flight.  But 
how  to  fly?  He  stopped  opposite  to  Lucian. 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do?"  he  demanded  in 
a  hoarse  voice. 

"Have  you  arrested,  along  with  Mrs.  Vrain," 
replied  Lucian,  making  this  threat  to  force  Ferruci 
into  defending  himself  or  confessing. 

"Mrs.  Vrain  is  innocent — she  knows  nothing 
about  this  conspiracy,  as  you  call  it.  I  planned  the 
whole  thing  myself." 


250  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"You  admit,  then,  that  the  so-called  Vrain  was 
really  Michael  Clear?" 

"Yes.  I  got  him  to  personate  the  man  Vrain,  so 
that  I  could  get  the  assurance  money  when  I  mar- 
ried Lydia.  I  chose  Clear  because  he  was  like 
Vrain.  I  made  the  scar  on  the  cheek,  and  I  thought 
he  would  die  soon,  being  consumptive." 

"And  you  killed  him?" 

"No!    No!    I  swear  I  did  not  kill  him!" 

"Did  you  not  take  that  stiletto  from  Berwin 
Manor?" 

"No!  I  never  did!  I  am  telling  the  truth!  I 
do  not  know  who  killed  Clear." 

"Did  you  not  visit  Wrent  in  Jersey  Street?" 

"Yes.  I  was  the  man  Rhoda  saw  in  the  back 
yard.  I  was  waiting  for  Mrs.  Clear,  to  take  her 
to  Hampstead;  and  in  the  meantime  I  thought  I 
would  climb  over  the  fence  and  see  Clear.  But 
the  girl  saw  me,  so  I  ran  away,  and  joined  Mrs. 
Clear  up  the  road.  I  was  not  aware  at  the  time 
that  the  woman  who  saw  me  was  Rhoda.  After- 
wards I  went  to  Hampstead  with  Mrs.  Clear,  to  see 
Jorce." 

"Did  you  buy  the  cloak?" 

"I  did.  That  girl  in  Baxter  &  Co.'s  told  a  lie 
for  me.  I  was  warned  by  Mrs.  Vrain  that  you 
had  made  questions  about  the  cloak,  so  I  went  to  the 
girl  and  told  her  you  were  a  jealous  husband,  and 
paid  her  to  say  it  was  not  I  who  bought  the  cloak. 
She  did  so,  quite  ignorant  of  the  real  reason  I 
wished  her  to  deny  knowing  me." 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  251 

"Why  drd  you  buy  the  cloak?"  asked  Lucian, 
satisfied  with  this  explanation. 

"I  bought  it  for  Wrent.  He  asked  me  to  buy  it, 
but  what  he  wanted  it  for  I  do  not  know.  He  had 
it  some  days  before  Christmas,  and,  I  believe,  gave 
it  to  Mrs.  Clear,  and  afterwards  to  the  girl  Rhoda. 
But  of  this  I  am  not  sure." 

"Who  is  Wrent?"  asked  Denzil,  reserving  the 
most  important  question  for  the  last. 

"Wrent?"  said  Ferruci,  smiling  in  a  sneering 
way.  "Ah!  you  wish  to  know  who  Wrent  is? 
Well,  excuse  me  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I'll  bring 
you  something  to  show  who  he  is." 

With  a  nod  to  Lucian  he  passed  into  his  bed- 
room, leaving  the  barrister  much  astonished.  He 
thought  that  Ferruci  was  Wrent  himself,  and  had 
gone  away  to  resume  the  disguise  of  wig  and  beard. 
While  he  pondered  thus  the  Count  reappeared,  car- 
rying a  small  bottle  in  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Denzil,"  said  he,  with  a  ghastly  smile,  "I 
have  played  a  bold  game,  and,  thanks  to  a  woman's 
treachery,  I  have  lost.  I  hoped  to  get  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds  and  a  charming  wife;  but  I  have 
gained  nothing  but  poverty  and  a  chance  of  impris- 
onment; but  I  am  of  noble  birth,  and  I  will  not 
survive  my  dishonour.  You  wish  to  know  who 
Wrent  is — you  shall  never  know." 

He  raised  the  bottle  to  his  lips  before  Lucian, 
motionless  with  horror,  could  rush  forward,  and 
the  next  moment  Count  Ercole  Ferruci  was  lying 
dead  on  the  floor. 


THE  NAME  OF  THE  ASSASSIN 

THAT  afternoon  London  was  ringing  with  the 
news  of  Ferruci's  suicide ;  but  no  paper  could  give 
any  reason  for  the  rash  act.  This  inability  was 
due  to  the  police,  who,  anxious  to  capture  those 
concerned  in  the  conspiracy  to  obtain  the  assurance 
money  of  the  Sirius  Company,  kept  everything  they 
could  out  of  the  papers,  lest  Lydia  and  Wrent 
should  be  put  on  their  guard,  and  so  escape. 

Lucian  had  been  forced  to  report  the  death  of 
Ferruci  to  the  authorities.  Now  the  case  was  out 
of  his  hands  again,  and  in  those  of  Link,  who 
blamed  the  young  barrister  severely  for  not  having 
brought  him  into  the  matter  before.  The  detective 
was  always  more  prone  to  blame  than  to  praise. 

"But  what  could  I  do?"  cried  Lucian  angrily. 
"You  threw  up  the  case  twice !  You  said  the  assas- 
sin of  Clear — or,  as  you  thought,  Vrain — would 
never  be  discovered !" 

"I  did  my  best,  and  failed,"  retorted  Link,  who 
did  not  like  his  position.  "You  have  had  better  luck 
and  have  succeeded." 

"My  luck  has  been  sheer  hard  work,  Link.  I 
252 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  253 

was  not  so  faint-hearted  as  you,  to  draw  back  at  the 
first  check." 

"Well,  well,  the  whole  truth  hasn't  been  discov- 
ered yet,  Mr.  Denzil.  As  you  have  found  out  this 
conspiracy,  I  may  learn  who  the  assassin  is." 

"We  know  that  already.  The  assassin  is  Wrent." 

"You  have  yet  to  prove  that." 

"I  ?"  said  Lucian,  with  disdain.  "I  prove  noth- 
ing. I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  affair.  You 
are  a  detective;  let  me  see  what  you  will  make  of 
a  case  which  has  baffled  you  twice!"  and  Denzil, 
with  rage  in  his  heart,  went  off,  laughing  at  the 
discomfiture  of  Link. 

At  that  moment  the  detective  hated  his  success- 
ful rival  with  his  whole  heart. 

Lucian  took  a  hansom  to  the  Royal  John  Hotel 
in  Kensington,  where  Diana,  in  a  great  state  of 
alarm,  was  reading  the  evening  papers,  which  con- 
tained short  notices  of  Ferruci's  death.  On  seeing 
her  lover,  she  hurried  forward  anxiously  and  caught 
him  by  the  hand. 

"Lucian,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  !"she  cried, 
leading  him  to  a  chair.  "I  sent  messages  both  to 
Geneva  Square  and  Sergeant's  Inn,  but  you  were 
neither  at  your  lodgings  nor  in  your  office." 

"I  was  better  employed,  my  dear,"  said  Lucian, 
with  a  weary  sigh,  for  he  was  quite  worn  out  with 
fatigue  and  anxiety.  "I  have  been  with  Link,  telling 
him  about  Ferruci's  death,  and  being  blamed  as  the 
cause  of  it." 


254  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"You  blamed!  And  why?"  said  Diana,  with 
just  indignation. 

"Because  I  forced  Ferruci  to  confess  the  truth, 
and  when  he  saw  that  there  was  every  chance  of  his 
being  put  into  jail  for  his  villainy,  he  went  to  his 
bedroom  and  took  poison.  You  know,  Mrs.  Clear 
said  the  man  was  something  of  a  chemist,  so  I  sup- 
pose he  prepared  the  poison  himself.  It  was  very 
swift  in  its  action,  for  he  dropped  dead  before  I 
could  recover  my  presence  of  mind." 

"Lucian !  this  is  terrible !"  cried  Diana,  wringing 
her  hands. 

"You  may  well  say  that,"  he  replied  gloomily. 
"Now  the  whole  details  of  the  case  will  be  in  the 
papers,  and  that  unfortunate  woman  will  be  ar- 
rested." 

"Lydia!  And  what  will  her  father  say?  It  will 
break  his  heart!" 

"Perhaps;  but  he  must  take  the  consequences  of 
having  brought  up  his  daughter  so  badly.  Still," 
added  Lucian,  reflectively,  "I  do  not  believe  that 
Lydia  is  so  guilty  as  Wrent.  That  scoundrel  seems 
to  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  affair.  Ferruci  and  he 
contrived  and  carried  out  the  whole  thing  between 
them,  and  a  precious  pair  of  villains  they  are." 

"Will  Wrent  be  arrested?" 

"If  he  can  be  found;  but  I  fancy  the  scoundrel 
has  made  himself  scarce  out  of  fright.  Since  he 
left  Jersey  Street,  after  the  murder,  he  has  not  been 
heard  of.  Even  Mrs.  Clear  does  not  know  where 
he  is.  You  know  she  has  put  advertisements  in  the 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  255 

papers  in  the  cypher  he  gave  her — according  to  the 
arrangement  between  them — but  Wrent  has  not 
turned  up." 

"And  Rhoda?" 

"Rhoda  is  still  missing.  The  police  are  getting 
warrants  out  for  the  servant,  for  Wrent,  for  Mrs. 
Clear,  and  for  Lydia  Vrain.  Ferruci,  luckily  for 
himself  and  his  family,  has  escaped  the  law  by  his 
own  act.  It  was  the  wisest  thing  the  scoundrel 
could  do  to  kill  himself  and  avoid  dishonour.  I 
must  admit  the  man  had  pluck." 

"It  is  terrible !  terrible !  What  will  be  the  end 
of  it?" 

"Imprisonment  for  the  lot,  I  expect,  unless  they 
can  prove  that  Wrent  murdered  Clear;  then  they 
will  hang  him.  But  now  that  Ferruci  is  dead,  I 
fancy  Rhoda  is  the  only  witness  who  can  prove 
Wrent's  guilt.  That  is  why  she  ran  away.  I  don't 
wonder  she  was  afraid  to  stay.  But  I  feel  quite 
worn  out  with  all  this,  Diana.  Please  give  me  a 
biscuit  and  a  glass  of  port;  I  have  had  nothing  all 
day." 

With  a  sigh,  Diana  touched  the  bell,  and  when 
the  waiter  made  his  appearance  gave  the  order.  She 
felt  low-spirited  and  nervous,  in  spite  of  the  dis- 
covery that  her  father  was  alive  and  well ;  and  in- 
deed the  extraordinary  events  of  the  last  few  days 
were  sufficient  to  upset  the  strongest  mind. 

Lucian  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair  with  closed 
eyes,  for  his  head  was  aching  with  the  excitement 
of  the  morning.  Suddenly  he  opened  them  and 


256  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

jumped  up.  At  the  same  time  Diana  threw  open 
the  door  with  an  exclamation,  and  both  of  them 
heard  the  thin,  high  voice  of  a  woman,  who  appar- 
ently was  coming  up  the  stairs. 

"Never  mind  my  name,"  said  the  voice,  "I'll  tell 
it  to  Miss  Vrain  myself.  Take  me  to  her  at  once." 

"Lydia !"  called  Lucian,  "artd  here?  Great  heav- 
ens! Why  does  she  come  here?" 

Diana  said  nothing,  but  compressed  her  lips  as 
Lydia,  followed  by  the  waiter  with  the  biscuits  and 
wine,  came  into  the  room.  She  was  plainly  and 
neatly  dressed,  and  wore  a  heavy  veil,  but  seemed 
greatly  excited.  She  did  not  say  a  word,  nor  did 
Diana,  until  the  waiter  left  the  room  and  closed  the 
door.  Then  she  threw  up  her  veil,  revealing  a  hag- 
gard face  and  red  eyes,  swollen  with  weeping,  and 
filled  with  an  expression  of  terror. 

"Sakes  alive!  isn't  this  awful?"  she  wailed,  mak- 
ing a  clutch  at  Miss  Vrain's  arm.  "You've  done 
it,  this  time,  Diana.  Ferruci's  dead,  and  your  fath- 
er alive,  and  I'm  not  a  widow,  and  my  father  away 
I  don't  know  where!  I  was  told  that  the  police 
were  after  me,  so  I'm  clearing  out." 

"Clearing  out,  Mrs.  Vrain?"  repeated  Diana, 
stiffly. 

"I  should  think  so!"  sobbed  Lydia.  "I  don't 
want  to  stay  and  be  put  in  gaol,  though  what  I've 
done  to  be  put  in  gaol  for,  I  don't  know." 

"What?"  cried  Lucian  indignantly.  "You  don't 
know — when  this  abominable  conspiracy  is " 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  257 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  conspiracy,"  interrupted 
Lydia. 

"Did  you  not  get  Ferruci  to  put  your  husband 
into  an  asylum?" 

"I?  I  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  I  thought  my 
husband  was  dead  and  buried  until  Ferruci  told  me 
the  truth,  and  then  I  held  my  tongue  until  I  could 
think  of  what  to  do.  After  Ercole  died,  his  ser- 
vant came  round  and  told  me  all — he  overheard 
the  conversation  you  had  with  the  Count,  Mr. 
Denzil.  I  was  never  so  astonished  in  my  life  as  to 
hear  about  Mrs.  Clear  and  her  husband — and 
Mark  alive — and — and — oh,  Lord !  isn't  it  dread- 
ful? Give  me  a  glass  of  wine,  Diana,  or  I'll  go 
right  off  in  a  dead  faint !" 

In  silence  Miss  Vrain  poured  out  a  glass  of  port 
and  handed  it  to  her  stepmother,  who  sipped  it  in  a 
most  tearful  mood.  Lucian  looked  at  the  wretched 
little  woman  without  saying  a  word,  and  wondered 
if,  indeed,  she  was  as  innocent  as  she  made  herself 
out  to  be.  He  thought  that,  after  all,  she  might 
be  ignorant  of  Ferruci's  plots,  although  she  had 
certainly  benefited  by  them ;  but  she  was  such  a  glib 
liar  that  he  did  not  know  how  much  to  believe  of 
her  story.  However,  she  had  hitherto  only  given 
a  general  idea  of  her  connection  with  the  matter, 
so  when  she  had  finished  her  wine,  and  was  some- 
what calmer,  Lucian  begged  her  to  be  more  ex- 
plicit. 

"Did  you  know — did  you  guess,  or  even  suspect 
— that  your  husband  was  alive  ?" 


258  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Mr.  Denzil,"  said  Lydia,  with  unusual  solem- 
nity, "as  I'm  a  married  woman^  and  not  the  widow 
I  thought  I  was,  I  did  not  know  that  Mark  was 
alive !  I'm  bad,  I  daresay,  but  I  am  not  bad  enough 
to  shut  a  man  up  in  a  lunatic  asylum  and  pretend 
he  is  dead,  just  to  get  money,  much  as  I  like  it. 
What  I  did  about  identifying  the  corpse  was  done 
in  good  faith." 

"You  really  thought  it  was  my  father's  body?" 
questioned  Diana  doubtfully. 

"I  swear  I  did,"  responded  Mrs.  Vrain,  emphat- 
ically. "Mark  walked  out  of  the  house  because 
he  thought  I  was  carrying  on  with  Ferruci,  which 
I  wasn't.  It  was  that  Tyler  cat  who  made  the  trou- 
ble between  us,  and  Mark  was  so  weak  and  silly — 
half  crazy,  I  think,  with  his  morphia  and  over-study 
— that  he  cleared  right  out,  and  I  never  knew  where 
he  had  gone  to.  When  I  saw  that  notice  about  the 
murdered  man  in  Geneva  Square,  who  called  him- 
self Berwin,  and  was  marked  on  the  cheek,  I 
thought  he  might  be  my  husband.  When  the  coffin 
was  opened,  I  really  believed  I  saw  poor  Mark's 
dead  body.  The  face  was  just  like  his,  and  scarred 
in  the  same  way." 

"What  about  the  missing  finger,  Mrs.  Vrain?  If 
I  remember,  you  even  gave  a  cause  for  its  loss." 

"Well,  it  was  this  way,"  replied  Lydia,  some- 
what discomposed.  "I  knew  that  Mark  hadn't  lost 
a  finger  when  he  left,  but  Ferruci  said  that  if  I  de- 
nied it  the  police  might  refuse  to  believe  that  the 
body  was  that  of  my  husband.  So,  as  I  was  sure 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  259 

it  was  Mark's  corpse,  I  just  said  he  had  lost  a  fin- 
ger out  West.  I  didn't  think  there  was  any  harm 
in  saying  so,  as  for  all  I  knew  he  might  have  got  it 
chopped  off  after  leaving  me.  But  the  face  of  the 
dead  man  was — as  I  thought — Mark's,  and  he 
called  himself  Berwin,  which,  you  know,  Diana,  is 
the  name  of  the  Manor,  and  the  scar  was  on  the 
cheek.  I  know  now  it  was  all  contrived  by  Ercole ; 
but  then  I  was  quite  ignorant." 

"When  did  you  find  out  the  truth?" 

"After  that  cloak  business.  Ferruci  came  to  me, 
and  I  told  him  what  that  girl  at  Baxter's  had  said, 
and  insisted  that  he  should  tell  me  the  truth.  Well, 
he  did,  in  order  to  force  me  to  marry  him,  and  then 
I  told  him  to  go  and  make  it  right  with  the  girl, 
so  that  when  Mr.  Denzil  went  again  she'd  deny  that 
Ercole  had  bought  the  cloak." 

"She  denied  it,  sure  enough,"  said  Lucian  grimly. 
"Ferruci,  before  he  died,  told  me  he  had  bribed  her 
to  speak  falsely.  What  more  did  the  Count  reveal 
to  you,  Mrs.  Vrain? — the  conspiracy?" 

"Yes.  He  said  he'd  found  Mark  hiding  at  Salis- 
bury, half  mad  with  morphia,  and  had  taken  him 
up  to  Mrs.  dear's,  where  it  seems  he  went  mad 
altogether,  so  they  locked  him  up  as  her  husband 
in  a  lunatic  asylum.  Ferruci  also  told  me  that  he 
had  seen  Michael  Clear  on  the  stage,  and  that  as 
he  was  so  like  Mark,  and  was  likely  to  die  of  drink 
and  consumption,  he  got  him  to  play  the  part  of 
Mark  in  Geneva  Square,  under  the  name  of  Ber- 
win. Mrs.  Clear  visited  her  husband  there  by 


260  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

climbing  over  a  back  fence,  and  getting  down  a 
cellar,  somehow." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Lucian.  "It  was  Mrs. 
dear's  shadow  I  saw  on  the  blind.  She  was  fight- 
ing with  her  husband,  and  when  I  rang  the  bell  they 
were  both  so  alarmed  that  they  left  the  house  by 
the  back  way  and  got  into  Jersey  Street.  Then 
Mrs.  Clear  went  home,  and  the  man  himself  came 
round  into  the  Square  by  the  front  way.  That  was 
how  I  met  him.  I  wondered  how  people  were  in 
the  house  during  his  absence.  Mrs.  Clear  told  me 
all." 

"Did  she  say  why  her  husband  made  you  exam- 
ine the  house?"  asked  Diana. 

"No.  But  I  expect  he  made  me  do  so  that  I 
should  not  have  my  suspicions  about  that  back  en- 
trance. But,  Mrs.  Vrain,  when  Ferruci  confessed 
that  your  husband  was  alive,  why  did  you  not  tell  it 
to  the  world?" 

"Well,  I'd  got  the  assurance  money,  you  see," 
said  Lydia,  with  shrewd  candour,  "and  I  thought 
the  company  would  make  a  fuss  and  take  it  back — 
as  I  suppose  they  will  now.  Ferruci  wanted  me  to 
marry  him,  but  I  wasn't  so  bad  as  that.  I  did  not 
want  to  commit  bigamy.  But  I  really  held  my 
tongue  because  Ferruci  told  me  who  killed  Clear." 

"He  knew,  then  ?"  cried  Lucian,  "and  denied  it 
to  me !  Who  killed  the  man  ?" 

"Wrent  did — the  man  who  lived  in  Jersey 
Street." 

"And  who  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  plot!" 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  261 

said  Lucian  furiously.  "Do  you  know  where  he 
is  to  be  found?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lydia  boldly,  "I  do;  but  I'm  not  go- 
ing to  tell  where  he  is !" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  don't  want  him  punished." 

"But  I  do,"  said  Diana  angrily.  "He  is  a  wretch 
who  ought  to  suffer!" 

"Very  well,"  said  Lydia,  loudly  and  spitefully, 
"then  make  him  suffer,  for  this  Wrent  is  your  own 
father !  It  was  Mark  who  killed  Michael  Clear!" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

LINK  SETS  A  TRAP 

IN  tKe  course  of  their  acquaintance,  Diana  had 
put  up  with  a  great  deal  from  the  little  American 
adventuress,  owing  to  her  position  of  stepmother, 
but  when  she  heard  her  accusing  the  man  she  had 
ruined  of  murder,  the  patience  of  Miss  Vrain  gave 
way.  She  rose  quickly,  and  walking  over  to  where 
Lydia  was  shrinking  in  her  chair,  towered  in  right- 
eous indignation  above  the  shameless  little  woman. 

"You  lie,  Mrs.  Vrain!"  she  said  in  a  low,  dis- 
tinct voice,  with  a  flushed  face  and  indignation  in 
her  eyes.  "You  know  you  lie!" 

"I — I  only  repeat  what  Ferruci  told  me,"  whim- 
pered Lydia,  rather  alarmed  by  the  attitude  of  her 
stepdaughter.  "I'm  sure  I  hope  Mark  didn't  kill 
the  man,  but  Ercole  said  that  he  was  in  Jersey 
Street  for  that  purpose." 

"It  is  not  true !  My  father  was  in  the  asylum 
at  Hampstead!" 

"Indeed  he  wasn't — not  at  the  time  Clear  was 
killed!"  protested  Lydia.  "He  was  not  put  into 
the  asylum  until  at  least  two  weeks  after  Christmas. 
Is  that  not  so,  Mr.  Denzil?" 

"It  is  so,"  assented  Lucian  gravely,  "but  even 
262 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  263 

admitting  so  much,  it  is  impossible  to  believe  that 
Mr.  Vrain  was  in  Jersey  Street.  For  many  months 
before  Christmas  he  was  in  charge  of  Mrs.  Clear, 
at  Bayswater." 

"So  Ercole  said,"  replied  Lydia,  "but  he  used 
to  get  away  from  Mrs.  Clear  at  times,  and  had  to 
be  brought  back." 

"He  wandered  when  he  got  the  chance,"  said 
Lucian,  with  hesitation.  "I  admit  as  much." 

"Well,  then,  when  he  was  not  at  Bayswater  he 
used  to  live  in  Jersey  Street  as  Wrent.  Ferruci 
found  him  out  there,  and  tried  to  get  him  to  go 
back,  and  he  took  Mrs.  Clear  several  times  to  the 
same  place  in  order  to  persuade  him  to  return  to 
Bayswater.  That  was  why  Mrs.  Clear  visited  Jer- 
sey Street.  Oh,  Mark  played  his  part  there  as  Mr. 
Wrent,  1  guess ;  there  ain't  no  two  questions  about 
that,"  finished  Lydia  triumphantly.  "He  is  the 
assassin,  you  bet!" 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  cried  Diana  furiously. 
"Why,  my  father  is  too  weak  in  the  head  to  have 
the  will,  let  alone  the  courage,  to  masquerade  like 
that.  He  is  like  a  child  in  leading-strings." 

"That's  his  cunning,  Diana.  He's  'cute  enough 
to  pretend  madness,  so  that  he  won't  be  hanged!" 

"It  is  impossible  that  Vrain  can  be  Wrent,"  said 
Lucian  decidedly.  "I  agree  with  Miss  Vrain;  he 
is  too  weak  and  irresponsible  to  carry  out  such  a 
deed.  Besides,  I  don't  see  how  you  prove  him 
guilty  of  the  murder;  you  do  not  even  know  that 
he  could  enter  the  Silent  House  by  the  secret  way." 


264  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  except  what 
Count  Ferruci  told  me,"  said  Lydia  obstinately. 
"And  he  said  that  Vrain,  as  Wrent,  killed  Clear. 
But  you  can  easily  prove  if  it's  true  or  not." 

"How  can  we  prove  it?"  asked  Diana  coldly. 

"By  laying  a  trap  for  Mark.  You  know — at 
least  Ercole  told  me,  and  I  suppose  Mrs.  Clear  told 
you — that  she  corresponded  with  Mark — Wrent,  I 
mean — in  the  agony  column  of  the  Daily  Tele- 
graph. 

"By  means  of  a  cypher?  Yes,  I  know  that,  but 
she  hasn't  received  any  answer  yet." 

"Of  course  not,"  replied  Lydia,  with  triumph, 
"because  Wrent — that's  Mark,  you  know — is  in  the 
asylum,  and  can't  answer  her." 

"This  is  all  nonsense !"  broke  in  Lucian,  impa- 
tient of  this  cobweb  spinning.  "I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  Ferruci's  story.  If  Vrain  lived  in  Jersey 
Street  as  Wrent,  why  should  Mrs.  Clear  visit  him  ?" 

"To  get  him  back  to  Bayswater." 

"Nonsense !  nonsense !  And  even  admitting  as 
much,  why  should  Mrs.  Clear,  in  the  newspapers, 
correspond  in  cypher  with  a  man  whom  she  not 
only  knows  is  in  an  asylum  as  her  husband,  but  who 
can  be  seen  by  her  at  any  time?" 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  Lucian,"  cried  Diana 
emphatically.  "Count  Ferruci  told  a  pack  of  false- 
hoods to  Mrs.  Vrain  !  The  thing  is  utterly  absurd !" 

"Oh,  I  guess  I'm  not  so  easily  made  a  fool  of 
as  all  that!"  cried  Lydia,  firing  up.  "If  you  don't 
believe  me,  lay  the  trap  I  told  you  of.  Let  Mark 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  265 

go  free  out  of  the  asylum;  get  Mrs.  Clear,  with 
her  cypher  and  newspapers,  to  ask  him  to  meet  her 
in  the  house  where  Clear  was  murdered,  and  then 
you'll  see  if  Mark  won't  turn  up  in  his  character  of 
Wrent." 

"He  will  not!"  cried  Diana  vehemently.  "He 
will  not!" 

"Mark,  when  he  left  me,"  went  on  the  angry 
Lydia,  "had  plenty  of  hair,  and  was  clean  shaven. 
Now — as  Ferruci  told  me,  for  I  haven't  seen  him 
— he  is  bald,  and  wears  a  skull-cap  of  black  velvet, 
and  a  white  beard.  After  Ercole  told  me  about 
Jersey  Street  I  went  there  to  ask  that  fat  woman 
about  Mark;  she  said  he  had  gone  away  two  days 
after  Christmas,  and  described  him  as  an  old  man 
with  a  skull-cap  and  a  white  beard." 

"Oh!"'  cried  Lucian,  for  he  recollected  that 
Rhoda  gave  the  same  description. 

"Ah!  you  know  I  speak  the  truth!"  said  Lydia, 
rising,  "but  I've  had  enough  of  all  this.  I've  lost 
my  money,  and  I  don't  suppose  I'll  go  back  to 
Mark.  I've  been  treated  badly  all  round,  and  I 
don't  know  what  poppa  will  say.  But  I'm  going 
out  of  London  to  meet  him." 

"You  said  you  did  not  know  where  your  father 
was!"  cried  Diana  scornfully. 

"I  don't  tell  you  everything,  Diana,"  retorted 
Lydia,  looking  very  wicked,  "but,  if  you  must  know, 
poppa  went  over  to  Paris  last  week,  and  I'm  going 
over  there  to  meet  him.  He'll  raise  Cain  for  the 
way  I've  been  treated." 


266  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Well,"  said  Lucian,  as  she  prepared  to  take  her 
leave,  "I  hope  you'll  get  away." 

"Do  you  intend  to  stop  me,  Mr.  Denzil?"  flashed 
out  Mrs.  Vrain,  furiously. 

"Not  I;  but  I'll  give  you  a  hint — the  railway 
stations  will  be  watched  by  the  police." 

"For  me?"  said  Lydia,  with  a  scared  expression. 
"Oh,  sakes !  it's  awful !  and  I've  done  nothing.  It's 
not  my  fault  if  I  got  the  assurance  money.  I  really 
thought  that  Mark  was  dead.  But  I'll  try  and  get 
away  to  poppa ;  he'll  put  things  right.  Good-bye, 
Mr.  Denzil,  and  Diana ;  you've  done  me  a  heap  of 
harm,  but  I  don't  bear  malice,"  and  Mrs.  Vrain 
rushed  out  of  the  room  in  a  great  hurry  to  escape 
the  chance  of  arrest  hinted  at  by  Lucian.  She  had 
a  sharp  eye  to  her  own  safety. 

Diana  waited  until  the  cab  which  Lydia  had  kept 
waiting  was  driving  away,  and  then  turned  with 
an  anxious  expression  on  her  face  to  look  at  Lucian. 
"My  dear,"  she  said,  taking  his  arm,  "what  do  you 
think  of  Lydia's  accusation?" 

"Against  your  father?"  said  Lucian.  "Why,  I 
don't  believe  it !" 

"Nor  do  I ;  but  it  will  be  as  well  to  set  the  trap 
she  suggests;  for  if  my  father  does  not  fall  into  it 
— and  as  he  is  not  Wrent,  I  don't  believe  he  will — 
the  real  man  may  keep  the  appointment  with  Mrs. 
Clear." 

"Whosoever  Wrent  is,  I  don't  think  he'll  come 
again  to  the  Silent  House,"  replied  the  barrister, 
shaking  his  head.  "It  would  be  thrusting  his  head 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  267 

into  the  lion's  jaws.  If  he  is  in  London  he'll  see 
the  death  of  Ferruci  described  in  the  papers,  and 
no  doubt  will  guess  that  the  game  is  up;  so  he'll 
keep  away." 

"Nevertheless,  we'll  do  as  Lydia  suggests,"  said 
Diana  obstinately.  "You  see,  Mr.  Link  and  Mrs. 
Clear,  and  arrange  about  the  cypher.  Then  my 
father  is  to  be  discharged  as  cured  to-morrow,  and 
I'll  let  him  go  out  if  he  pleases.  Of  course,  I'll 
follow  him;  then  I'll  be  able  to  see  if  he  goes  to 
Pimlico." 

"But,  Diana,  suppose  he  does  go  to  the  Silent 
House,  and  proves  to  be  Wrent?" 

"He  won't  do  that,  my  dear.  My  father  is  no 
more  Wrent  than  you  are.  I  believe  Lydia  speaks 
in  the  full  belief  that  he  is;  but  Ferruci,  for  his 
own  ends,  lied  to  her.  However,  to  trap  the  real 
man,  let  us  do  as  Lydia  suggests.  The  idea  is  a 
good  one." 

"Well,  we'll  try,"  said  Lucian,  with  a  sigh.  "But 
I  do  hope,  Diana,  that  this  case  will  end  soon.  Every 
week  there  is  some  fresh  development  in  a  new  di- 
rection, and  I  am  getting  quite  bewildered  over  it." 

"It  will  end  with  the  capture  of  Wrent,  the  as- 


sassin." 


"I  hope  so;  and  God  grant  Wrent  does  not  prove 
to  be  your  father!" 

"There  is  no  fear  of  that,"  said  Diana  gravely. 
"My  father  is  insane  more  or  less,  but  he  is  not  a 
murderer.  I  am  quite  content  to  risk  the  trap  sug- 
gested by  that  woman." 


268  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

Lucian  did  not  at  once  adept  the  plan  to  net 
Wrent — whosoever  he  might  be — invented  by 
Lydia,  and  approved  of  by  Diana.  On  the  whole, 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  that  a  weak- 
headed,  foolish  old  creature  like  Vrain  had  mas- 
queraded in  Jersey  Street  as  Wrent.  Still  there 
were  certain  suspicious  incidents  which  fitted  in  very 
neatly  with  Ferruci's  story.  Mrs.  Clear  had  stated 
that  Vrain,  when  under  her  charge,  escaped  several 
times,  and  had  remained  away  for  several  days, 
until  brought  back  again  by  the  Count.  Again,  the 
appearance  of  Wrent,  as  described  by  Rhoda,  was 
precisely  the  same  as  the  looks  of  Vrain  when  Lu- 
cian saw  him  in  the  Hampstead  asylum;  so  it 
seemed  that  there  might  be  some  truth  in  the  story. 

"But  it's  impossible!"  said  Lucian  to  himself. 
"Vrain  is  half  mad  and  incapable  of  conducting 
his  own  life,  or  arranging  so  cleverly  to  commit  a 
crime.  Also  he  had  no  money,  and,  had  he  lived 
in  Jersey  Street,  would  not  have  been  able  to  pay 
Mrs.  Bensusan.  There  is  something  more  in  the 
coincidence  of  this  similarity  of  looks  than  meets 
the  eye.  I'll  see  Link  and  hear  what  he  has  to 
say  on  the  subject.  It's  time  he  found  out  some- 
thing." 

The  next  day  Lucian  paid  a;  visit  to  Link,  but 
was  not  received  very  amiably  by  that  gentleman, 
who  proved  to  be  in  a  somewhat  bad  temper.  He 
was  not  altogether  pleased  with  Lucian  finding  out 
more  about  the  case  than  he  had  discovered  him- 
self, and  also — to  further  ruffle  his  temper — the 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  269 

clever  Lydia  had  given  him  the  slip.  He  had  called 
at  her  Mayfair  house  with  a  warrant  for  her  arrest, 
only  to  find  out  that — having  received  timely  warn- 
ing from  Ferruci's  servant — she  had  fled.  In  vain 
the  railway  stations  had  been  watched.  Lydia, 
taking  the  hint  given  to  her  by  Lucian,  had  baffled 
that  peril  by  taking  the  Dover  train  at  a  station  out- 
side London. 

Lucian  heard  what  Link  had  to  say  on  the  sub- 
ject, but  did  not  reveal  the  fact  that  Lydia  had  paid 
a  visit  to  Diana,  or  had  gone  to  meet  her  father 
at  Dover.  He  did  not  want  to  give  the  little  woman 
up  to  justice,  as  he  was  beginning  to  believe  her 
innocent;  and  that,  in  all  truth,  she  had  known 
nothing  of  the  Ferruci-Wrent  conspiracy. 

Therefore,  giving  no  information  to  Link  as  to 
the  little  woman's  whereabouts,  Denzil  told — as 
coming  from  himself — his  idea  that  Wrent  might 
fall  into  a  trap  set  for  him  in  the  Pimlico  House 
by  means  of  Mrs.  dear's  cypher.  Link  listened  to 
the  tale  attentively,  and  decided  to  adopt  the  idea. 

"It  is  a  good  one,"  he  admitted  generously,  "and 
I'm  not  jealous  enough  to  cut  off  my  nose  to  spite 
my  face.  You  have  had  the  better  of  me  all  through 
this  case,  Mr.  Denzil,  and  we  have  had  words  over 
it;  but  I'll  show  you  that  I  can  appreciate  your  clev- 
erness by  adopting  your  plan." 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you  for  your  good  opin- 
ion," said  Lucian  drily,  for  he  saw  with  some  hu- 
mour that  Link  was  only  too  anxious  to  benefit  by 


270  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

the  very  cleverness  of  which  he  pretended  to  be 
so  jealous.  "And  you  will  see  Mrs.  Clear?" 

"Yes;  I'll  see  her  at  once,  and  get  her  to  invite 
Wrent  to  Pimlico  by  that  cypher,  with  a  threat  that 
she  will  betray  the  whole  plot  if  he  does  not  come." 

"I  daresay  he  knows  already  that  Mrs.  Clear  is 
a  traitress?" 

"Impossible!"  replied  Link  quickly.  "I  have 
kept  Mrs.  dear's  name  out  of  the  papers.  It  is 
known  that  Ferruci  is  dead,  and  that  Mrs.  Vrain  is 
likely  to  be  arrested  in  connection  with  her  sup- 
posed husband's  murder.  But  the  fact  of  Mrs. 
Clear  putting  the  real  Vrain  into  the  asylum  is  not 
known,  nor,  indeed,  anything  about  the  woman. 
If  Wrent  thinks  she'll  tell  tales,  he'll  meet  her  in 
their  own  hunting  grounds  in  Geneva  Square,  to 
make  his  terms.  Hitherto  he  has  not  replied  to 
her  requests  for  money,  but  now  he'll  think  she  is 
driven  into  a  corner,  and  will  fix  her  up  once  and 
for  all." 

"Do  you  think  that  Wrent  is  Vrain?" 

"Good  Lord !  no!"  replied  Link,  staring.  "What 
put  that  into  your  head?" 

Lucian  immediately  told  about  the  supposed  con- 
nection between  Vrain  and  Wrent,  but,  suppressing 
that  it  was  Lydia's  or  Ferruci's  idea,  based  his  sup- 
position on  the  fact  of  the  resemblance  between  the 
two  men.  Link  heard  the  theory  with  scorn,  and 
scouted  the  idea  that  the  two  men  could  be  one  and 
the  same. 

"I've  seen  Vrain,"  said  he.     "The  old  man  is 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  271 

as  mad  as^a  March  hare  and  as  silly  as  a  child. 
He's  in  his  dotage,  and  could  not  possibly  carry  out 
such  a  plan.  But  we  can  easily  learn  the  truth." 

"From  whom?"  asked  Lucian. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Denzil,  you  are  not  so  clever  as  you 
think  yourself,"  scoffed  Link.  "Why,  from  Mrs. 
Clear,  to  be  sure.  She  visited  at  Jersey  Street,  and 
saw  Wrent,  and  as  Vrain  was  then  with  her  in  the 
character  of  her  husband,  she'll  be  able  to  tell  us 
if  they  are  two  men  or  one  person." 

"You  are  right,  Link.    I  never  thought  of  that." 

"He  !  he !  Then  I  can  still  teach  you  something," 
replied  Link,  in  high  good  humour  at  having  for 
once  scored  off  the  too  clever  barrister,  and  forth- 
with went  off  to  see  Mrs.  Clear. 

How  this  interview  with  that  lady  sped,  or  what 
she  told  him,  he  refused  to  reveal  to  Lucian ;  but  its 
result  was  that  a  cypher  appeared  in  the  agony  col- 
umn of  the  Daily  Telegraph,  calling  upon  Wrent 
to  meet  her  in  the  Silent  House  in  Pimlico,  under 
the  penalty  of  her  telling  the  police  all  she  knew  if 
he  did  not  come.  In  the  same  issue  of  the  paper  in 
which  this  message  appeared  there  was  a  paragraph 
stating  that  Mrs.  Vrain  had  been  arrested  at  Dover. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

WHO  FELL  INTO  THE  TRAP  ? 

HOWEVER  closely  one  may  study  the  fair  sex, 
there  is  no  understanding  them  in  the  least.  No 
one  can  say  how  a  woman  will  act  in  a  given  situa- 
tion; for  feminine  actions  are  based  less  on  logical 
foundations  than  on  the  emotion  of  the  moment. 

Diana  had  never  liked  Lydia ;  when  the  Ameri- 
can girl  became  her  stepmother  she  hated  her,  and 
not  only  said  as  much  but  showed  in  her  every  action 
that  she  believed  what  she  said.  She  declared  that 
she  would  be  glad  to  see  Lydia  deprived  of  her 
money  and  put  into  jail !  The  punishment  would  be 
no  more  than  she  deserved. 

Yet  when  these  things  came  to  pass ;  when,  by  the 
discovery  that  Vrain  yet  lived,  Lydia  lost  her  lib- 
erty; and  when,  as  connected  with  the  conspiracy, 
she  was  arrested  on  a  criminal  warrant  and 
put  into  prison,  Diana  was  the  only  friend 
she  had.  Miss  Vrain  declared  that  her  step- 
mother was  innocent,  visited  her  in  prison,  and 
engaged  a  lawyer  to  defend  her.  Lucian  could  not 
forbear  pointing  out  the  discrepancy  between 
Diana's  past  sentiments  and  her  present  actions ;  but 
Miss  Vrain  was  quite  ready  with  an  excuse. 

272 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  273 

"I  am  only  doing  my  duty,"  she  said.  "In  her- 
self I  like  Lydia  as  little  as  ever  I  did,  but  I  think 
we  have  suspected  her  wrongly  in  being  connected 
with  this  conspiracy,  so  I  wish  to  help  her  if  pos- 
sible. And  after  all,"  added  Diana,  "she  is  my 
father's  wife,"  as  if  that  fact  extenuated  all. 

"He  has  reason  to  know  it,"  replied  Lucian  bit-  * 
terly.     "If  it  had  not  been  for  Lydia,  your  father 
would  not  have  left  his  home  for  a  lunatic  asylum, 
nor  would  Clear  have  been  murdered." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  Lucian;  but  some  good 
has  come  out  of  this  evil,  for  if  things  had  not  been 
as  they  are,  you  and  I  would  never  have  met." 

"Egad!  that  is  true!"  said  Lucian,  kissing  her. 
"It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good." 

So  Diana  played  the  part  of  a  Good  Samaritan 
towards  her  stepmother,  and  helped  her  to  bear  the 
evil  of  being  thrust  into  prison.  Lydia  wrote  to 
her  father  in  Paris,  but  received  no  reply,  and  there- 
fore was  without  a  friend  in  the  world  save  Diana. 
Later  on  she  was  admitted  to  bail,  and  Diana 
took  her  to  the  hotel  in  Kensington,  there  to  wait 
for  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Clyne.  His  absence  and 
silence  were  both  unaccountable. 

"I  hope  nothing  is  wrong  with  poppa,"  wept 
Lydia.  "As  a  rule,  he  is  always  smart  in  replying, 
and  if  he  has  seen  about  Ercole's  death  and  my  im- 
prisonment in  the  papers,  I'm  sure  he  will  be  over 


soon." 


While  she  was  thus  waiting  for  her  father,  and 
Link  in  every  way  was  seeking  evidence  against 


274  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

her,  Mrs.  Clear  received  an  answer  to  her  message. 
In  the  same  column  of  the  Daily  Telegraph,  and  in 
the  same  cypher,  there  appeared  a  message  from 
Wrent  that  he  would  meet  Mrs.  Clear  at  No.  13 
Geneva  Square. 

Link  was  delighted  when  Mrs.  Clear  showed 
him  this,  and  rubbed  his  hands  with  much  pleasure. 
Affairs  were  about  to  be  brought  to  a  crisis,  and 
as  Link  was  the  moving  spirit  in  the  matter,  his 
vanity  was  sufficiently  gratified  as  to  make  him  quite 
amiable. 

"We've  got  him  this  time,  Mr.  Denzil,"  he  said, 
with  enthusiasm.  "You  and  I  and  a  couple  of  po- 
licemen will  go  down  to  that  house  in  Geneva 
Square — by  the  front,  sir,  by  the  front." 

"Mrs.  Clear,  also?"  questioned  Lucian,  wishing 
to  be  enlightened  on  all  points. 

"No.  She'll  come  in  by  the  back,  down  the  cel- 
lanvay,  as  Wrent  expects  her  to  come.  Then  he'll 
follow  in  the  same  path  and  walk  right  into  the 
trap." 

"But  won't  the  two  be  seen  climbing  over  that 
fence  in  the  daytime?"  asked  the  barrister  doubt- 
fully. 

"Who  said  anything  about  the  daytime,  Mr. 
Denzil  ?  I  did  not,  and  Wrent  knows  too  much  to 
risk  himself  at  a  time  that  he  can  be  seen  from  the 
windows  of  the  adjacent  houses.  No!  no!  The 
meeting  with  Mrs.  Clear  is  to  take  place  in  the 
front  room  at  ten  o'clock,  when  it  will  be  quite  dark. 
You,  I,  and  the  policemen  will  hide  in  what  was 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  275 

the  bedroom,  and  listen  to  what  Wrent  has  to  say 
to  Mrs.  Clear.  We'll  give  him  rope  enough  to 
hang  himself,  sir,  and  then  pounce  out  and  nab 
him." 

"Well,  he  won't  show  much  fight  if  he  is  Mr. 
Vrain." 

"I  don't  believe  he  is  Mr.  Vrain,"  retorted  the 
detective  bluntly. 

"I  am  doubtful  of  that,  also,"  admitted  Lucian, 
"but  you  know  Vrain  is  now  out  of  the  asylum,  and, 
for  the  time  being,  has  been  left  to  his  own  devices. 
The  reply  to  the  cypher  did  not  appear  until  he 
was  in  that  position.  Supposing,  after  all,  this  mys- 
terious Wrent  proves  to  be  this  unhappy  man?" 

"In  that  case,  he'll  have  to  pay  for  his  whistle, 
sir." 

"You  mean  in  connection  with  the  conspiracy?" 

"Yes,  and  perhaps  with  the  murder  of  Clear;  but 
we  don't  know  if  the  so-called  Wrent  committed 
the  crime.  For  such  reason,  Mr.  Denzil,  I  wish  to 
overhear  what  he  says  to  Mrs.  Clear.  It  is  as  well 
to  give  him  enough  rope  to  hang  himself  with." 

"Can  you  trust  Mrs.  Clear?" 

"Absolutely.  She  knows  on  which  side  her  bread 
is  buttered.  Her  only  chance  of  getting  free  from 
her  share  of  the  matter  is  to  turn  Queen's  evidence, 
and  she  intends  to  do  so." 

"What  did  she  say  about  Vrain  being  Wrent?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Link,  putting  his  head  on  one 
side,  and  looking  at  Lucian  with  an  odd  expres- 
sion, "you  had  better  wait  till  the  man's  caught  be- 


276  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

fore  I  answer  that  question.  Then,  maybe,  you 
won't  require  an  answer." 

"It  is  very  probable  I  won't,"  replied  Lucian 
drily.  "What  time  am  I  to  see  you  to-night?" 

"I'll  call  for  you  at  nine  o'clock  sharp,  and  we'll 
go  across  to  the  house  at  once.  I  have  the  key  in 
my  pocket  now.  Peacock  gave  it  to  me  this  morn- 
ing. The  scene  will  be  quite  dramatic." 

"I  hope  it  won't  prove  to  be  Vrain,"  said  Lucian 
restlessly,  for  he  thought  how  grieved  Diana  would 
be. 

"I  hope  not,"  answered  Link  curtly,  "but  there's 
no  knowing.  However,  if  the  old  man  does  get 
into  trouble  he  can  plead  insanity.  His  having  been 
in  the  asylum  of  Jorce  is  a  strong  card  for  him  to 
play.  Good-day,  Mr.  Denzil.  I'll  see  you  to-night 
at  nine  o'clock  sharp." 

"Good-day,"  replied  Lucian,  and  the  pair  parted 
for  the  time  being. 

Lucian  did  not  go  near  Diana  that  day.  In  the 
first  place,  he  did  not  wish  to  see  Lydia,  for  whom 
he  had  no  great  love;  and  in  the  second,  he  was 
afraid  to  speak  to  Diana  as  to  the  possibility  jof 
her  father  being  Wrent. 

Diana,  as  a  good  daughter  should,  held  firmly 
to  the  idea  that  her  father  could  not  behave  in  such 
a  way;  and  as  a  sensible  woman,  she  did  not  think 
that  a  man  with  so  few  of  his  senses  about  him 
could  have  acted  the  dual  part  with  which  he  was 
credited  without,  in  some  measure,  betraying  him- 
self. 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  277 

tucian  was  somewhat  of  this  opinion  himself,  yet 
he  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  Vrain  might  prove 
to  be  the  culprit.  The  fact  of  Vrain's  being  often 
away  from  Mrs.  dear's  house  in  Bayswater,  and 
Wrent  absent  in  the  same  way  from  Mrs.  Bensu- 
san's  house  in  Jersey  Street,  appeared  strange,  and 
argued  a  connection  between  the  two.  Again,  the 
resemblance  between  them  was  most  extraordinary 
and  unaccountable. 

On  the  whole,  Lucian  was  not  satisfied  in  his 
mind  as  to  what  would  be  the  end  of  the  matter, 
and  had  he  known  Mrs.  dear's  address  he  would 
have  gone  to  question  her  about  it.  But  only  Link 
knew  where  the  woman  was  to  be  found,  and  kept 
that  information  to  himself — especially  from  Den- 
zil.  Now  that  he  had  the  reins  once  more  in  his 
hands,  he  did  not  intend  that  the  barrister  should 
take  them  again. 

Punctual  to  the  minute,  Link,  in  a  state  of  sub- 
dued excitement,  came  to  Lucian's  rooms.  Already 
he  had  sent  his  two  policemen  over  to  the  house, 
into  which  he  had  instructed  them  to  enter  in  the 
quietest  and  most  unostentatious  manner,  and  now 
came  to  escort  the  barrister  across. 

Lucian  put  on  his  hat  at  once,  and  the  two  walked 
out  into  the  dark  night,  for  dark  it  was,  with  no 
moon,  few  stars,  and  a  great  many  clouds.  A  most 
satisfactory  night  for  their  purpose. 

"All  the  better,"  said  Link,  casting  a  look  round 
the  deserted  square;  "all  the  better  for  our  little 
game.  I  wish  to  secure  this  fellow  as  quietly  as 


278  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

possible.  Here's  the  door  open — in  with  you,  Mr. 
Denzil!" 

According  to  instructions,  a  policeman  had  wait- 
ed behind  the  closed  door,  and  at  the  one  sharp 
knock  of  his  superior  opened  it  at  once  so  that  the 
two  slipped  in  as  speedily  as  possible.  Link  had 
a  dark-lantern,  which  he  used  carefully,  so  that  no 
light  could  be  seen  from  the  window  looking  on 
to  the  square;  and  with  his  three  companions  he 
went  into  the  back  room  which  had  formerly  been 
used  by  Clear  as  a  sleeping  apartment.  Here  the 
two  policemen  stationed  themselves  in  one  corner; 
and  Link,  with  Lucian,  waited  near  the  door  lead- 
ing into  the  sitting-room,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  Mrs. 
Clear. 

All  was  so  dark  and  lonely  and  silent  that  Lu- 
cian's  nerves  became  over-strained,  and  it  was  as 
much  as  he  could  do  to  prevent  himself  from  trem- 
bling violently.  In  a  whisper  he  conversed  with 
Link. 

"Have  you  heard  anything  of  that  girl  Rhoda?" 
he  asked. 

"We  have  traced  her  to  Berkshire,"  whispered 
Link.  "She  went  back  to  her  gypsy  kinsfolk,  you 
know.  I  dare  say  we'll  manage  to  lay  hands  on 
her  sooner  or  later." 

"She  is  an  accomplice  of  Wrent's,  I  believe." 

"So  do  I,  and  I  hope  to  make  him  confess  as 
much  to-night.  Hush!" 

Suddenly  Link  had  laid  his  clasp  on  Lucian's 
wrist  to  command  silence,  and  the  next  moment  they 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  279 

heard  the  swish-swish  of  a  woman's  dress  coming 
along  the  passage.  She  entered  the  sitting-room 
cautiously,  moving  slowly  in  the  darkness,  and  stole 
up  to  the  door  behind  which  Lucian  and  the  de- 
tective were  hiding.  The  position  of  this  she  knew 
well,  because  it  was  opposite  the  window. 

"Are  you  there?"  whispered  Mrs.  Clear  ner- 
vously. 

"Yes,"  replied  Link  in  the  same  tone.  "Myself, 
Mr.  Denzil,  and  two  policemen.  Keep  the  man 
in  talk,  and  find  out,  if  possible,  if  he  committed 
the  murder." 

"I  hope  he  won't  kill  me,"  muttered  Mrs.  Clear. 
"He  will,  if  he  knows  I've  betrayed  him." 

"That  will  be  all  right,"  said  Link  in  a  low, 
impatient  voice.  "We  will  rush  out  should  he  prove 
dangerous.  Get  over  by  the  window,  so  that  we 
can  see  a  little  of  you  and  Wrent  when  you  talk." 

"No !  no !  Don't  leave  the  door  open !  He'll  see 
voul" 

"He  won't,  Mrs.  Clear.  We'll  keep  back  in  the 
darkness.  If  he  shows  a  light,  we'll  rush  him  be- 
fore he  can  use  a  weapon  or  clear  out.  Get  back 
to  the  window !" 

"I  hope  I'll  get  through  with  this  all  right,"  said 
Mrs.  Clear  nervously.  "It's  an  awful  situation," 
and  she  moved  stealthily  across  the  floor  to  the  win- 
dow. 

There  was  a  faint  gaslight  outside,  and  the 
watchers  could  see  her  figure  and  profile  black 
against  the  slight  illumination.  All  was  still  and 


280  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

silent  as  the  grave  when  they  began  their  dreary 
watch. 

The  minutes  passed  slowly  in  the  darkness,  and 
there  was  an  unbroken  silence  save  for  the  breath- 
ing of  the  watchers  and  the  restless  movements  of 
Mrs.  Clear  near  the  window.  They  saw  her  pass 
and  repass  the  square  of  glass,  when,  unexpectedly, 
she  paused,  rigid  and  silent. 

A  stealthy  step  was  ascending  the  distant  stair, 
and  pacing  cat-like  along  the  passage. 

Lucian  felt  a  tremor  pass  through  his  body  as 
the  steps  of  the  murderer  sounded  nearer  and  clear- 
er. They  paused  at  the  door,  and  then  moved  to- 
wards the  window  where  Mrs.  Clear  was  standing. 

"Is  that  you?"  said  a  low  voice,  which  came 
weirdly  out  of  the  darkness. 

"Yes.  I  have  been  waiting  for  the  last  half  hour, 
Mr.  Wrent,"  replied  the  woman  in  nervous  tones. 
"I  am  glad  you  have  come." 

"I  am  glad,  also,"  said  the  voice  harshly,  "as  I 
wish  to  know  why  you  propose  to  betray  me." 

"Because  you  won't  pay  me  the  money,"  said 
Mrs.  Clear  boldly.  "And  if  you  don't  give  it  to 
me  this  very  night  I'll  go  straight  and  tell  the  police 
all  about  my  husband." 

"I'll  kill  you  first!"  cried  the  man  with  a  snarl, 
and  made  a  dash  at  the  woman.  With  a  cry  for 
help  she  eluded  him  and  sprang  towards  the  bed- 
room door  for  protection.  The  next  moment  the 
four  watchers  were  in  the  room  wrestling  with 
Wrent.  When  he  felt  the  grip  of  their  hands,  and 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  281 

knew  that  he  was  betrayed,  he  cried  out  savagely, 
and  fought  with  the  strength  of  two  men.  How- 
ever, he  could  do  little  against  his  four  adversaries, 
and,  worn  out  with  the  struggle,  collapsed  suddenly 
on  to  the  dusty  floor  with  a  motion  of  despair. 

"Lost !  lost !"  he  muttered.     "All  lost !" 

Breathing  hard,  Link  slipped  back  the  cover  of 
the  dark  lantern  and  turned  the  light  on  to  the  face 
of  the  prisoner.  Out  of  the  darkness  started  a  pale 
face  with  white  hair  and  long  white  beard.  Lucian 
uttered  a  cry. 

"Mr.  Vrain!"he  said,  shrinking  back,  "Mr. 
Vrain!" 

"Look  again,"  said  Link,  passing  his  hand  rap- 
idly over  the  face  and  head  of  the  prostrate  man. 
Denzil  did  look,  and  uttered  a  second  cry  more 
startling  than  the  first.  Wig  and  beard  and  ven- 
erable looks  were  all  gone,  and  he  recognised  at 
once  who  Wrent  was. 

"Jabez  Clyne ! — Jabez  Clyne !"  he  exclaimed  in 
astonishment. 

"Yes !"  cried  Link  triumphantly,  "Jabez  Clyne, 
conspirator  and  assassin !" 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A  STRANGE  CONFESSION 

"I,  JABEZ  CLYNE,  write  this  confession  in  my 
prison  cell,  of  my  own  free  will,  and  without  coer- 
cion from  any  one;  partly  because  I  know  that  the 
evidence  concerning  my  share  in  the  Vrain  con- 
spiracy is  strong  against  me,  and  partly  because  I 
wish  to  exonerate  my  daughter  Lydia. 

"She  is  absolutely  innocent  of  all  knowledge  con- 
cerning the  feigned  death  of  her  husband  and  his 
actual  existence  in  a  private  lunatic  asylum;  and 
on  the  strength  of  this  confession  of  mine — which 
will  fix  the  guilt  of  the  matter  on  the  right  persons 
— I  demand  that  she  shall  be  set  free.  It  is  not 
fair  that  she  should  suffer,  for  I  and  Ferruci 
planned  and  carried  out  the  whole  conspiracy.  Well, 
Ferruci  has  punished  himself,  and  soon  the  law  will 
punish  me,  so  it  is  only  justice  that  Lydia  should 
be  discharged  from  all  blame.  On  this  understand- 
ing I  set  out  the  whole  story  of  the  affair — how  it 
was  thought  of,  how  it  was  contrived,  and  how  it 
was  carried  out.  Now  that  Count  Ferruci  is  dead, 
this  confession  can  harm  no  one  but  myself,  and 
may  be  the  means  of  setting  Lydia  free.  So  here  I 
begin  my  recital. 

282 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  283 

I  was-  always  an  unlucky  man,  and  the  end  of 
my  life  proves  to  be  as  unfortunate  as  the  begin- 
ning. I  was  born  in  London  some  fifty  and  more 
years  ago,  in  a  Whitechapel  slum,  of  drunken  and 
profligate  parents,  so  it  is  little  to  be  wondered  at 
that  my  career  has  been  anything  but  virtuous  or 
respectable.  In  my  early  childhood — if  it  may  be 
called  so — I  was  beaten  and  starved,  set  to  beg, 
forced  to  thieve,  and  never  had  a  kind  word  said 
to  me  or  a  kind  deed  done  to  me.  No  wonder  I 
grew  up  a  callous,  hardened  ruffian.  As  the  twig  is 
bent,  so  will  the  tree  grow. 

"Out  of  this  depth  of  degradation  I  was  rescued 
by  a  philanthropist,  who  had  me  fed  and  clothed 
and  educated.  I  had  at  his  hands  every  chance  of 
leading  a  respectable  life,  but  I  did  not  want  to 
become  smug  and  honest.  My  early  training  was 
too  strong  for  that,  so  after  a  year  or  two  of  en- 
forced goodness  I  ran  away  to  sea.  The  vessel  I 
embarked  on  as  a  stowaway  was  bound  for  Amer- 
ica. When  I  was  discovered  hiding  among  the  car- 
go we  were  in  mid-ocean,  and  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  carry  me  to  the  States.  Still,  to  earn  my 
passage,  I  was  made  cabin-boy  to  a  ruffianly  cap- 
tain, and  once  more  tasted  the  early  delights  of 
childhood,  viz.,  kicks,  curses,  and  starvation.  When 
the  ship  arrived  in  New  York  I  was  turned  adrift  in 
the  city  without  a  penny  or  a  friend. 

"It  is  not  my  purpose  to  describe  my  sufferings, 
as  such  description  will  do  no  good  and  interest  no- 
body; particularly  as  the  purpose  of  this  confession 


284  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

is  to  declare  the  Vrain  conspiracy  and  its  failure; 
so  I  will  pass  over  my  early  years  as  speedily  as  pos- 
sible. To  be  brief:  I  became  a  newsboy,  then  a 
reporter;  afterwards  I  went  West  and  tried  my 
luck  in  San  Francisco,  later  on  in  Texas;  but  in 
every  case  I  failed,  and  became  poorer  and  more 
desperate  than  ever.  In  New  Orleans  I  set  up  a 
newspaper  and  had  a  brief  time  of  prosperity,  when 
I  married  the  daughter  of  a  hotelkeeper,  and  for 
the  time  was  happy. 

"Then  the  Civil  War  broke  out,  and  I  was  ru- 
ined. My  wife  died,  leaving  me  with  one  child, 
whom  I  called  Lydia,  after  her,  but  that  child  died 
also,  and  I  was  left  alone.  After  the  war  I  pros- 
pered again  for  a  time,  and  married  a  woman  with 
money.  She  also  died,  and  left  a  daughter,  and 
this  child  I  again  called  Lydia,  in  memory  of  my 
first  wife,  who  was  the  only  woman  I  ever  truly 
loved.  I  placed  little  Lydia  in  a  convent  for  educa- 
tion, and  devoted  my  second  wife's  money  to  that 
purpose;  then  I  started  out  for  the  fifth  or  sixth 
time  to  make  my  fortune.  Needless  to  say,  I  did 
not  make  it. 

"I  pass  over  a  long  period  of  distress  and  pros- 
perity, hopes  and  fears.  One  day  I  was  rich,  the 
next  poor ;  and  Fate — or  whatever  malignant  deity 
looked  after  my  poor  affairs — knocked  me  about 
most  cruelly,  tossed  me  up,  threw  me  down,  and  at 
the  end  of  a  score  of  years  left  me  comparatively 
prosperous,  with  an  income,  in  English  money,  of 
£500  a  year.  With  this  I  returned  to  Washington 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  285 

to  seek  Lydia,  and  found  her  grown  up  into  a  beau- 
tiful and  clever  girl.  Her  beauty  gave  me  the  idea 
that  I  might  marry  her  well  in  Europe  as  an  Ameri- 
can heiress.  So  for  Europe  we  started,  and  after 
many  years  of  travel  about  the  Continent  we  set- 
tled down  in  the  Pension  Donizetti  in  Florence. 
There  Lydia  was  admired  for  her  beauty  and  wit, 
and  courted  for  her  money !  But  save  for  my  ten 
pounds  a  week,  which  we  eked  out  in  the  most 
frugal  manner,  we  had  not  a  penny  between  us. 

"It  was  in  Florence  that  we  met  with  Vrain  and 
his  daughter,  who  came  to  stay  at  the  Pension.  He 
was  a  quiet,  harmless  old  gentleman,  a  trifle  weak 
in  the  head,  which  his  daughter  said  came  from 
over-study,  but  which  I  discovered  afterwards  was 
due  to  habitual  indulgence  in  morphia  and  other 
drugs.  His  daughter  watched  him  closely,  and — 
not  having  a  will  of  his  own  by  reason  of  his  weak 
brain — he  submitted  passively  to  her  guidance.  I 
heard  by  a  side  wind  that  Vrain  was  rich,  and  had 
a  splendid  mansion  in  the  country;  so  I  hinted  to 
Lydia  that  as  it  seemed  difficult  to  get  her  a  young 
husband,  it  would  be  better  for  her  to  marry  a  rich 
old  one.  At  that  time  Lydia  was  in  love  with,  and 
almost  engaged  to,  Count  Ercole  Ferruci,  a  penni- 
less Italian  nobleman,  who  courted  my  pretty  girl 
less  for  her  beauty  than  for  her  supposed  wealth. 
When  I  suggested  that  Lydia  should  marry  Vrain, 
she  refused  at  first  to  entertain  the  idea;  but  after- 
wards, seeing  that  the  man  was  old  and  weak,  she 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  as  his  wife  to 


286  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

inherit  his  money,  and  then,  as  his  widow,  to  marry 
Ferruci.  I  think,  also,  that  the  pointed  dislike 
which  Diana  Vrain  manifested  for  us  both — al- 
though I  am  bound  to  say  she  hated  Lydia  more 
than  she  did  me — had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  my 
daughter  marrying  Vrain.  However,  the  end  of 
it  was  that  Lydia  broke  off  her  engagement  with 
Ferruci — and  very  mad  he  was  at  losing  her — and 
married  Mark  Vrain  in  Florence. 

"After  the  marriage  the  old  man,  who  at  that 
time  was  quite  infatuated  with  Lydia,  made  a  will 
leaving  her  his  assurance  money  of  £20,000,  but 
the  house  near  Bath,  ana  the  land,  he  left  to  Diana. 
I  am  bound  to  say  that  Lydia  behaved  very  well 
in  this  matter,  as  she  could  have  had  all  the  money 
and  land,  but  she  was  content  with  the  assurance 
money,  and  did  not  rob  Diana  Vrain  of  her  birth- 
right. Yet  Diana  hated  her,  and  still  hates  her; 
but  I  ask  any  one  who  reads  this  confession  if  my 
dear  Lyddy  is  not  the  better  woman  of  the  two? 
Who  dares  to  say  that  such  a  sweet  girl  is  guilty 
of  the  crimes  she  is  charged  with? 

"Well,  the  marriage  took  place,  and  we  all  jour- 
neyed home  to  Berwin  Manor  ;*but  here  things  went 
from  bad  to  worse.  Old  Vrain  took  again  to  his 
morphia,  and  nothing  would  restrain  him;  then 
Lydia  and  Diana  fought  constantly,  and  each 
wished  the  other  out  of  the  house.  I  tried  to  keep 
the  peace,  and  blamed  Lyddy — who  is  no  saint,  I 
admit — for  the  way  in  which  she  was  treating 
Diana.  With  Miss  Vrain  I  got  on  very  well,  and 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  287 

tried  to  make  things  easy  for  her;  but  in  the  end 
the  ill-will  between  her  and  my  Lydia  became  so 
strong  that  Diana  left  the  house,  and  went  out  to 
Australia  to  live  with  some  relatives. 

"So  Lydia  and  I  and  old  Vrain  were  left  alone, 
and  I  thought  that  everything  would  be  right.  So 
it  would  have  been  if  Lydia  had  not  put  matters 
wrong  again  by  inviting  Ferruci  over  to  stay.  But 
she  would  insist  upon  doing  so,  and  although  I 
begged  and  prayed  and  commanded  her  not  to  have 
so  dangerous  a  man  in  the  house,  she  held  her  own ; 
and  in  the  face  of  my  remonstrances,  and  those  of 
her  husband,  Count  Ferruci  came  to  stay  with  us. 

"From  the  moment  he  entered  the  house  there 
was  nothing  but  trouble.  Vrain  became  jealous, 
and,  mad  with  drugs  he  took,  often  treated  Lydia 
with  cruelty  and  violence,  and  she  came  to  me  for 
protection.  I  spoke  to  Vrain,  and  he  insulted  me, 
wishing  to  turn  me  out  of  the  house ;  but  for  Lydia's 
sake  I  remained.  Then  a  Miss  Tyler  came  to  stay, 
and  falling  in  love  with  Count  Ferruci,  grew  jeal- 
ous of  Lydia,  and  made  trouble  with  Vrain.  The 
end  of  it  was  that  after  a  succession  of  scenes,  in 
which  the  old  man  behaved  like  the  lunatic  he  was, 
he  left  the  house,  and  not  one  of  us  knew  where  he 
went  to.  That  was  the  last  Lydia  saw  of  her  hus- 
band. 

"After  that  trouble  I  insisted  that  Count  Ferruci 
should  leave  the  house;  also  Miss  Tyler.  They 
both  did,  but  came  back  at  times  to  pay  Lydia  a 
visit.  We  tried  to  find  Vrain,  but  could  not,  as  he 


288  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

had  vanished  altogether.  Ferruci,  I  saw,  was  in 
love  with  Lydia,  and  she  with  him,  but  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other  hinted  at  a  future  marriage  should 
Vrain  die.  I  do  not  say  that  Lydia  was  a  fond  wife 
to  Vrain,  but  he  treated  her  so  badly  that  he  could 
not  expect  her  to  be ;  and  I  dare  say  I  am  the  one  to 
blame  all  through,  as  I  made  Lydia  marry  Vrain 
when  she  loved  Ferruci.  But  I  did  it  all  for  the 
best,  so  as  to  get  money  for  my  dear  girl ;  and  if  it 
has  turned  out  for  the  worst,  my  inordinate  affection 
for  my  child  is  to  blame.  All  I  have  done  has  been 
for  Lydia's  sake;  all  Ferruci  did  was  for  Lydia's 
sake,  as  he  truly  loved  her ;  but  I  swear  by  all  that 
I  hold  most  holy  that  Lydia  knew  not  how  either 
of  us  was  working  to  secure  her  happiness.  Well, 
Ferruci  is  dead,  and  I  am  in  jail,  so  we  have  paid 
in  full  for  our  wickedness. 

"I  had  no  idea  of  getting  rid  of  Vrain  until  one 
day  Ferruci  took  me  aside  and  told  me  that  he  had 
found  Vrain  at  Salisbury.  He  stated  that  the  man 
was  still  taking  morphia,  but  in  spite  of  his  excesses 
had  so  strong  a  constitution  that  it  appeared  he 
would  live  for  many  years.  The  Count  then  said 
that  he  loved  Lydia  dearer  than  life,  and  wished 
to  marry  her  if  Vrain  could  be  got  out  of  the  way. 
I  cried  out  against  murder  being  done,  as  I  never 
entertained  such  an  idea  for  a  moment;  but  Fer- 
ruci denied  that  he  wished  to  harm  the  man.  He 
wanted  him  put  away  in  a  lunatic  asylum,  and  when 
I  asked  him  how  even  then  he  could  marry  Lydia, 
he  suggested  his  scheme  of  substituting  a  sickly  and 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  289 

dying  man  for  Vrain.  The  scheme — which  was 
entirely  invented  by  the  Count — was  as  follows : 

"Ferruci  said  that  in  a  minor  London  theatre  he 
had  seen  an  actor  called  Clear,  who  was  wonder- 
fully  like  Vrain,  save  that  he  had  no  scar  on  the 
cheek,  and  had  a  moustache,  whereas  Vrain  was 
always  clean-shaved.  He  had  made  the  acquain- 
tance of  the  actor— Michael  Clear  was  his  full 
name — and  of  his  wife.  They  proved  to  be  hard 
up  and  mercenary,  so  Ferruci  had  no  difficulty  in 
gaining  over  both  for  his  purpose.  For  a  certain 
sum  of  money  (which  was  to  be  paid  to  Mrs.  Clear 
when  her  husband  was  dead  and  the  Count,  married 
to  Lydia,  was  possessed  of  the  assurance  money) 
Clear  agreed  to  shave  off  his  moustache  and  per- 
sonate Vrain.  Ferruci,  who  was  something  of  a 
chemist,  created  by  means  of  some  acid  a  scar  on 
dear's  cheek  like  that  on  Vrain's,  so  that  he  re- 
sembled my  son-in-law  in  every  way  save  that  he 
had  lost  one  little  finger. 

"Ferruci  wanted  me  to  join  him  in  the  conspiracy 
so  that  I  could  watch  Clear  impersonating  Vrain, 
while  he  himself  kept  his  eye  on  the  real  Vrain,  who 
was  to  be  received  into  Mrs.  dear's  house  at  Bays- 
water  and  passed  off  as  her  husband.  All  Mrs. 
Clear  wanted  was  the  money,  as — long  since  wear- 
ied of  her  drunken  husband — she  did  not  care  if  he 
lived  or  died.  Clear,  on  his  part,  knowing  that  he 
could  not  live  long,  was  quite  willing  to  play  the 
part  of  Vrain  on  condition  that  he  had  plenty  to 
eat  and  drink,  and  could  live  in  idleness  and  lux- 


290  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

ury.  His  wishes  in  this  direction  cost  us  a  pretty 
penny,  as  he  bought  everything  of  the  best. 

"To  this  plot  I  refused  consent  until  I  saw  how 
Vrain  was ;  so  when  Ferruci  brought  him  from  Salis- 
bury— where  he  was  hiding — to  London,  I  had  an 
interview  with  him.  He  proved  to  be  so  stupefied 
with  drugs  that  he  hardly  knew  me,  so,  seeing  that 
my  Lydia  would  get  no  good  out  of  her  life  by  being 
tied  to  such  a  husband,  I  determined  that  I  would 
assist  Ferruci,  on  the  understanding,  of  course,  that 
Vrain  was  to  be  well  looked  after  in  every  way. 
We  agreed  that  when  Clear  died,  and  his  body  was 
identified  as  Vrain's,  that  the  real  man  should  be 
put  in  an  asylum,  which  was — and  I  am  sure  every 
one  will  agree  with  me — the  best  place  for  him. 

"All  this  being  arranged,  I  went  out  to  look  for 
a  house  in  a  secluded  part  of  the  town,  in  which 
Clear — under  the  name  of  Berwin — should  live  un- 
til he  died  as  Vrain.  I  did  not  wish  to  see  about 
the  house  in  my  new  character,  lest  I  should  be 
recognised,  if  there  was  any  trouble  over  the  assur- 
ance money;  to  complicate  matters,  I  determined 
to  disguise  myself  as  the  real  Vrain.  Of  course, 
Clear  personated  Vrain  as  Lydia  had  last  seen  him, 
that  is,  clean-shaven,  and  neat  in  his  dress.  But 
the  real  Vrain,  neglecting  his  personal  appearance, 
had  cultivated  a  long,  white  beard,  and  wore  a  black 
velvet  skull-cap  to  conceal  a  baldness  which  had 
come  upon  him.  I  disguised  myself  in  this  fashion, 
therefore,  and  went  to  Pimlico  under  the  name  of 
Wrent. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  CONFESSION  (Continued) 

"IN  Geneva  Square,  Pimlico,  I  found  the  house 
I  wanted.  It  was  No.  13,  and  was  said  to  be  haunt- 
ed, as  cries  had  been  heard  in  it  at  night,  and  lights 
had  been  seen  flitting  from  window  to  window  when 
no  one  was  in  the  house.  I  looked  at  it  without  en- 
tering, or  calling  on  the  landlord,  and  then  I  went 
into  Jersey  Street  to  see  the  back.  The  house  in 
the  same  section  with  it  was  kept  by  a  Mrs.  Bensu- 
san,  who  took  in  lodgers.  Her  rooms  were  vacant, 
and  as  it  suited  me  very  well  that  I  should  be  a 
neighbour  to  Clear,  I  took  the  rooms.  They  proved 
— as  I  shall  explain — better  for  our  purpose  than 
I  was  aware  of. 

"When  I  told  Ferruci  of  my  discovery,  he  gave 
Clear  money  and  made  him  hire  the  house  and  fur- 
nish two  rooms  for  himself.  I  supplied  the  money. 
In  this  way  Clear,  calling  himself  Berwin,  which 
was  the  name  of  Vrain's  house  in  the  country,  came 
to  live  in  Pimlico.  We  also  removed  the  real  Vrain 
to  Mrs.  dear's  at  Bayswater,  and  he  passed  as  her 
husband.  So  weak  were  his  brains,  and  so  cowed 
was  his  spirit,  that  there  was  no  difficulty  in  keep- 

291 


292  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

ing  him  in  the  house,  and  the  neighbours  were  told 
merely  that  Clear  was  ill. 

"For  my  part,  I  took  up  my  abode  in  Jersey 
Street  under  the  name  of  Wrent,  and  met  Clear 
outside  on  occasions  when  it  was  necessary  for  me 
to  see  him ;  but  I  never  entered  the  house — for  obvi- 
ous reasons. 

"I  was  constantly  afraid  lest  Clear,  in  his  drunk- 
en fits — for  he  was  always  more  or  less  drunk — 
should  reveal  our  secret,  and  I  took  as  my  bedroom 
an  apartment  in  Mrs.  Bensusan's  out  of  the  window 
of  which  I  could  overlook  the  back  of  No.  13.  One 
night,  when  I  was  watching,  I  saw  a  dark  figure 
glide  into  Mrs.  Bensusan's  yard  and  climb  over 
the  fence,  only  to  disappear.  I  was  terribly  alarmed, 
and  wondering  what  was  wrong,  I  put  on  my 
clothes  and  hurried  downstairs  into  the  yard.  Also 
I  climbed  over  the  fence  into  the  yard  of  No.  13. 
Here  I  could  not  see  where  the  figure  had  disap- 
peared to,  as  the  doors  and  windows  at  the  back 
of  the  house  were  all  locked.  I  could  not  conjec- 
ture who  the  woman  was — for  it  was  a  woman  I 
saw — who  had  entered,  or  why  she  had  done  so,  or 
in  what  way  she  had  gained  admission. 

"While  I  was  thus  thinking  I  saw  the  woman 
again.  She  apparently  rose  out  of  the  earth,  and 
after  closing  what  appeared  to  be  a  trap-door,  she 
made  for  the  fence.  I  stopped  her  before  she  got 
there,  and  found  to  my  surprise  that  she  was  a  red- 
headed servant  of  Mrs.  Bensusan's — a  kind-  of 
gypsy,  very  clever,  and — I  think — with  much  evil 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  293 

in  her.  She  was  alarmed  at  being  discovered,  and 
begged  me  not  to  tell  on  her.  For  my  own  sake, 
I  promised  not  to  do  so,  but  made  her  explain  how 
she  got  into  the  house,  and  why  she  entered  it.  Then 
she  told  me  an  extraordinary  tale. 

"For  some  years,  she  said,  she  had  been  with 
Mrs.  Bensusan,  who  had  taken  her  from  the  gypsies 
to  civilise  her,  and  hating  the  restraint  of  civilised 
life,  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  roaming  about 
at  night.  Knowing  that  tlie  house  at  the  back  was 
unoccupied,  this  Rhoda — for  that  is  her  name — 
climbed  over  the  fence  and  tried  to  get  into  it,  but 
found  the  doors  and  windows  bolted  and  barred. 

"Then  one  night  she  saw  a  kind  of  grated  win- 
dow amid  the  grass,  and  as  this  proved  not  to  be 
bolted,  she  pulled  it  open.  Taking  a  candle  with 
her,  she  went  on  a  voyage  of  discovery,  and  dropped 
through  this  hole  some  distance  into  a  disused  cel- 
lar. Only  a  cat  could  have  got  in  safely,  for  the 
height  was  considerable;  and,  indeed,  Rhoda  did 
not  risk  that  mode  of  entrance  again,  for,  finding 
a  ladder  in  the  cellar,  which,  I  presume,  had  been 
used  to  get  at  the  higher  bins  of  wine,  she  placed 
this  against  the  aperture,  and  thus  was  enabled 
to  ascend  and  descend  without  difficulty.  Frequent- 
ly by  this  means  she  entered  the  empty  house,  and 
went  from  room  to  room  with  her  candle,  singing 
gypsy  songs  as  she  wandered.  So  here  I  had  found 
the  ghost  of  No.  13,  although  I  don't  suppose  this 
impish  gypsy  girl  knew  as  much.  She  haunted  the 


294  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

house  just  to  amuse  herself,  when  fat  Mrs.  Bensu- 
san  thought  she  was  safe  in  bed. 

"I  asked  Rhoda  why  she  had  entered  the  house 
on  that  particular  night  when  I  had  caught  her. 
She  confessed  that  she  had  seen  some  articles  of  sil- 
ver in  dear's  rooms  which  she  wished  to  steal ;  but 
on  this  occasion  he  had  locked  the  door — a  thing 
which  he  did  not  always  do  in  his  drunken  humours 
— and  so  Rhoda  was  returning  disappointed.  After 
this  confession  I  made  her  go  back  to  her  own  house 
and  promised  to  keep  her  secret.  I  also  told  her 
that  if  she  held  her  tongue  I  would  give  her  a 
present.  For  this  purpose  I  made  Ferruci  buy  me 
a  cloak  lined  with  rabbit  skins,  as  Rhoda  on  her 
-night  excursions  wanted  something  to  keep  her 
warm.  When  Ferruci  gave  it  to  me,  and  it  was 
lying  in  my  room,  Mrs.  Clear  came  one  night  to  see 
me,  and  finding  it  cold,  she  borrowed  the  cloak  to 
wrap  round  her.  She  kept  it  for  some  time,  and 
brought  it  back  on  Christmas  Eve,  when  I  gave  it 
next  day  to  Rhoda.  It  was  Ferruci  who  bought 
the  cloak,  not  I ;  and  it  was  purchased  for  Rhoda, 
not  for  Mrs.  Clear. 

"The  next  night  I  entered  No.  13  by  the  cellar- 
way,  and  found  it  of  great  advantage,  as  I  could 
visit  Clear  without  exciting  suspicion,  and  so  keep 
an  eye  on  him.  At  first  he  was  alarmed  by  my  un- 
expected appearance,  but  when  I  showed  him  the 
secret  way,  he  made  use  of  it  also.  We  used  it  only 
on  dark  nights,  and  it  was  for  this  reason  that  we 
were  not  noticed  by  the  neighbours.  It  would  never 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  295 

have  done  for  any  one  of  us  to  be  seen  climbing  over 
the  fence.  Mrs.  Clear  once  visited  her  husband, 
and  had  a  quarrel  with  him  about  his  drinking.  It 
was  her  shadow  and  Clear's  which  Denzil  saw  on 
the  blind.  As  soon  as  they  heard  his  ring  they  both 
went  out  the  back  way,  and  in  climbing  hurriedly 
over  the  fence  Mrs.  Clear  tore  her  veil.  It  was  a 
portion  of  this  which  Denzil  found. 

"On  that  night,  Clear,  after  leaving  his  wife, 
entered  the  square  by  the  front,  and  so  met  with 
Denzil,  much  to  the  latter's  surprise.  I  was  very 
angry  when  Clear  showed  Denzil  over  the  house; 
but  he  said  that  the  young  man  was  very  suspicious, 
and  he  only  showed  him  the  house  to  prove  that 
there  was  no  one  in  it,  and  that  he  must  have  been 
mistaken  about  the  shadows  on  the  blind.  Notwith- 
standing this  explanation,  I  did  not  approve  of 
Clear's  act,  nor,  indeed,  of  his  acquaintance  with 
Denzil. 

"For  some  months  matters  went  on  in  this  way. 
Clear  remained  in  the  Silent  House,  drinking  him- 
self to  death;  Mrs.  Clear  looked  after  Vrain  in  her 
Bayswater  house;  and  I,  in  my  old-man  disguise, 
remained  in  Jersey  Street,  although  at  times  I  left 
there  and  went  to  see  my  daughter.  All  this  time 
Lydia  had  no  idea  of  what  we  were  preparing. 
Then  I  began  to  grow  weaned  of  the  position,  for 
Clear  proved  tougher  than  we  anticipated,  and 
showed  no  signs  of  dying.  In  despair,  I  thought  I 
would  give  him  the  means  to  kill  himself. 

"Mind,  I  did  not  wish  to  murder  him  myself; 


296  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

but  the  man,  when  in  his  drinking  fits,  thought  he 
was  attacked  by  enemies,  and  when  in  a  melancholic 
frame  of  mind,  on  recovery,  would  frequently  hint 
at  suicide.  I  therefore  thought  that  if  a  weapon 
were  left  within  his  reach  he  might  kill  himself. 
I  don't  defend  my  conduct  in  this  case,  but  surely 
this  drunken  scoundrel  was  better  dead  than  alive. 
In  choosing  a  weapon,  I  wished  to  select  one  that 
would  implicate  Ferruci  rather  than  myself,  in  case 
there  was  any  trouble  over  the  matter;  so  I  chose 
for  my  purpose  a  stiletto  which  hung  by  a  parti- 
coloured ribbon  on  the  walls  of  the  library  at  Ber- 
win  Manor.  I  fancied  that  the  stiletto,  having 
been  bought  in  Florence,  and  Ferruci  coming  from 
Florence,  he,  if  anyone — should  any  of  these  facts 
come  to  light — would  be  credited  with  giving  it 
to  Clear. 

"I  took  this  stiletto  from  Berwin  Manor  some 
time  before  Christmas,  and,  bringing  it  up  to  town, 
I  left  it,  on  the  day  before  Christmas,  on  the  table 
in  dear's  sitting-room.  That  was  at  nine  o'clock 
in  the  night,  and  that  was  when  I  last  saw  him 
alive.  Who  killed  him  I  know  no  more  than  any 
one  else. 

"On  Christmas  Eve  I  was  ill,  and  wrote  to  Lydia 
to  come  up.  She  met  me  at  the  Pegalls',  but  as  I 
felt  ill,  I  left  there  at  six  o'clock,  and  Lydia  stayed 
with  the  family  all  night.  At  seven  o'clock  Mrs. 
Clear  came  to  me  with  Ferruci,  and  brought  back 
the  cloak  which  I  gave  afterwards  to  Rhoda.  She 
wanted  to  see  her  husband  again,  but  I  refused  to 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  297 

let  her  risk  the  visit.  Ferruci  came  to  tell  me  that 
he  was  arranging  to  place  Vrain — who  was  be- 
coming too  violent  to  be  restrained — in  the  private 
aslyum  of  Dr.  Jorce,  at  Hampstead.  Mrs.  Clear 
was  to  go  with  him,  and  we  conversed  about  the 
matter. 

"Ferruci  went  away  first,  as  he  desired  to  see 
Clear,  and  for  that  purpose  waited  about  until  it 
was  darker,  and  went  into  the  back  yard  shortly 
after  eight  o'clock.  There  he  was  seen  by  Rhoda 
as  he  was  about  to  climb  the  fence,  and,  not  knowing 
it  was  the  girl,  he  took  fright  and  ran  out  of  the 
yard  into  Jersey  Street.  Here  he  found  Mrs.  Clear, 
who  had  left  me  and  was  waiting  for  him,  and 
the  pair  went  off  to  see  Dr.  Jorce  at  Hampstead. 
I  believe  they  remained  there  all  night. 

"Left  alone,  I  climbed  over  the  fence  about  nine 
o'clock,  and  saw  Clear.  He  was  celebrating  Christ- 
mas Eve  by  drinking  heavily,  and  I  was  unable  to 
bring  him  to  reason.  I  therefore  left  the  stiletto 
which  I  had  brought  with  me  on  the  table,  and 
returned  to  my  house  in  Jersey  Street.  I  never  saw 
him  alive  again.  I  went  to  bed  and  slept  all  night, 
so  I  was  aware  of  nothing  in  connection  with  the 
death  until  late  on  Christmas  Day.  Then  Mrs. 
Bensusan  was  told  by  Miss  Greeb,  the  landlady  of 
Denzil,  that  the  tenant  of  No.  13  had  been  mur- 
dered. I  fancied  that  he  had  killed  himself  in  a 
fit  of  melancholia,  with  the  stiletto  I  had  left  on 
his  table;  but  I  did  not  dare  to  go  near  the  house 
to  find  this  out. 


298  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"Afterwards  I  learned  that  the  doctor  who  ex- 
amined the  body  was  of  trie  opinion  that  Clear  had 
been  murdered;  and,  being  afraid  about  the  police 
taking  up  the  case,  I  paid  Mrs.  Bensusan  a  week's 
rent  and  left  her  house  two  days  after  Christmas. 
I  returned  to  Berwin  Manor,  and  shortly  after- 
wards Ferruci  joined  me  there,  as  he  had  success- 
fully incarcerated  Vrain  in  the  asylum  under  the 
name  of  Michael  Clear. 

"When  the  advertisement  came  out,  it  was  I 
who  hinted  to  Lydia  that  the  dead  man — seeing 
that  he  was  called  Berwin — might  be  her  husband. 
We  went  up  to  town :  Lydia  identified  the  body  of 
Clear  as  her  husband  in  all  innocence — for  after 
death  the  man  looked  more  like  Vrain  than  ever; 
and  in  due  time  the  assurance  money  was  obtained. 

"I  do  not  think  there  is  anything  more  to  tell, 
save  that  I  did  not  know  that  Mrs.  Clear  had  be- 
trayed me.  I  could  not  pay  her  the  money,  as  I 
could  not  get  it  from  Lydia.  I  told  Lydia  I  was 
going  to  Paris,  but  in  reality  I  was  hunting  for 
Rhoda,  who  had  run  away  from  Jersey  Street.  I 
fancied  she  might  betray  us,  and  wished  to  make 
things  safe  with  her.  Before  I  found  her,  how- 
ever, I  saw  in  the  papers  that  Ferruci  had  com- 
mitted suicide;  also  that  Lydia — who  had  gone  to 
Dover  to  meet  me,  thinking  I  was  returning  from 
Paris — had  been  arrested.  Then  I  saw  Mrs.  dear's 
advertisement  saying  she  would  betray  me  if  I  did 
not  pay  the  money.  I  consented  to  meet  her  in 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  299 

order  ta  Implore  her  silence,  and  so  fell  into  the 
clutches  of  the  law. 

"I  may  state  that  I  did  not  kill  Clear,  as  I  never 
saw  him  after  nine  o'clock,  and  then  he  was  alive. 
In  spite  of  what  the  doctor  said,  I  am  still  inclined 
to  think  he  killed  himself.  Now  I  have  made  a 
clean  breast  of  it — I  am  willing  to  be  punished;  but 
I  hope  Lydia  will  be  set  free,  for  whosoever  is 
guilty,  she  is  innocent.  I  have  been  an  unlucky 
man,  and  I  remain  one  at  this  moment  when  I  sign 

myself  for  the  last  time,  JABEZ  CLYNE." 

***** 

Needless  to  say,  both  Link  and  Denzil  were 
greatly  surprised  at  this  confession,  which  revealed 
all  things  save  the  one  they  wished  to  know. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this  idea  of  suicide?" 
asked  Lucian. 

"It  is  quite  out  of  the  question,"  replied  the  de- 
tective decidedly.  "The  doctor  who  examined  the 
body  said  that  it  was  impossible  the  man  could  have 
committed  suicide.  The  position  of  the  wound 
shows  that ;  also  the  power  of  the  stroke.  No  man 
could  drive  a  stiletto  so  dexterously  and  strongly 
into  the  heart.  Also  the  room  was  in  confusion, 
which  points  to  a  struggle,  and  the  stiletto  is  miss- 
ing. It  was  not  suicide,  but  murder,  and  I  believe 
either  Clyne  or  Ferruci  killed  the  man." 

"But  Ferruci  was  not " 

"He  was  not  there  after  ten,"  interrupted  Link, 
"but  he  was  there  about  eight.  I  dare  say  when 
Rhoda  saw  him  he  was  coming  back  after  having 


300  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

committed  the  deed,  and  Clyne  says  the  stiletto  was 
not  there  at  the  time  just  to  screen  him." 

"It  is  of  little  use  to  screen  the  dead,"  said  Lu- 
cian.  "I  think  only  one  person  can  tell  the  truth 
about  this  murder,  and  that  is  Rhoda." 

"I'm  looking  for  her,  Mr.  Denzil." 

This  was  easy  saying,  but  harder  doing,  for 
weeks  passed  away,  and  in  spite  of  all'the  efforts  of 
the  police  Rhoda  could  not  be  found.  Then  one 
morning  the  detective,  much  excited,  burst  into 
Lucian's  rooms  waving  a  paper  over  his  head. 

"A  confession!"  he  cried.  "Another  confes- 
sion!" 

"Of  whom?"  asked  Lucian,  surprised. 

"Of  Rhoda !"  replied  Link  excitedly.  "She  has 
confessed!  It  was  Rhoda  who  killed  Michael 
Clear!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

WHAT  RHODA  HAD  TO  SAY 

OF  all  the  news  concerning  the  truth  of  dear's 
death,  this  was  the  last  which  Lucian  expected  to 
hear.  He  stood  staring  at  the  excited  face  of  the 
detective  in  wide-eyed  surprise,  and  for  the  moment 
could  not  find  his  voice. 

"It  is  true,  I  tell  you  1"  cried  Link,  sitting  down 
and  smoothing  out  the  paper  which  he  carried. 
"Rhoda,  and  none  other,  killed  the  man  I" 

"Are  you  sure,  Link?" 

"Of  course  I  am.  This,"  flourishing  the  paper, 
"is  her  dying  confession." 

"Her  dying  confession?"  repeated  the  barrister 
blankly.  "Is  she  dead,  also?" 

"Yes.  It  is  a  long  story,  Mr.  Denzil.  Sit  down, 
and  I'll  tell  it  to  you.  As  you  have  had  so  much 
to  do  with  the  beginning  of  the  case,  it  is  only  fair 
that  you  should  know  the  end,  and  a  strange  end 
it  is." 

Without  a  word  Lucian  sat  down,  feeling  quite 
confused,  for  in  no  way  could  he  guess  how  Clear 
had  come  by  his  death  at  the  hands  of  Rhoda.  He 
had  suspected  Lydia  as  guilty  of  the  crime ;  he  had 

301 


302  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

credited  Ferruci  with  its  commission,  and  he  had 
been  certain  of  the  guilt  of  Clyne,  alias  Wrent;  but 
to  discover  that  the  red-headed  servant  was  the  cul- 
prit entirely  bewildered  him.  She  had  no  motive 
to  kill  the  man;  she  had  given  evidence  freely  in 
the  matter,  and  in  all  respects  had  acted  as  an  in- 
nocent person.  So  this  was  why  she  had  left  Jersey 
Street?  It  was  a  fear  of  being  arrested  for  the 
crime  which  had  driven  her  into  the  wilds.  But,  as 
Lucian  privately  thought,  she  need  not  have  fled, 
for — so  far  as  he  could  see — beyond  the  startling 
announcement  of  Link,  there  was  no  evidence  to 
connect  her  with  the  matter.  It  was  most  extraordi- 
nary. 

"I  see  you  are  astonished,"  said  Link,  with  a 
nod;  "so  was  I.  Of  all  folk,  I  least  suspected  that 
imp  of  a  girl.  The  truth  would  never  have  been 
known,  had  she  not  confessed  at  the  last  moment; 
for  even  now  I  cannot  see,  on  the  face  of  it,  any 
evidence — save  her  own  confession — to  inculpate 
her  in  the  matter.  So  you  see,  Mr.  Denzil,  the 
mystery  of  this  man's  death,  which  we  have  been 
so  anxious  to  solve,  has  not  been  explained  by  you, 
or  discovered  by  me,  but  has  been  brought  to  light 
by  chance,  which,  after  all,  is  the  great  detective. 
You  may  well  look  astonished,"  repeated  the  man 
slowly;  "I  am — immensely." 

"Let  me  hear  the  confession,  Link!" 
"Wait  one  moment.     I'll  tell  you  how  it  came 
to  be  made,  and  then  I'll  relate  the  story  in  my  own 
fashion,  as  the  way  in  which  the  confession  is  writ- 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  303 

ten  is  top  muddled  for  you  to  understand  clearly. 
Still,  it  shows  plainly  enough  that  Clyne,  for  all  our 
suspicions,  is  innocent." 

"And  Rhoda,  the  sharp  servant  girl,  guilty,"  said 
Lucian,  reflectively.  "I  never  should  have  thought 
that  she  was  involved  in  the  matter.  How  the 
deuce  did  she  come  to  confess?" 

"Well,"  said  Link,  clearing  his  throat  as  a  pre- 
liminary to  his  narrative,  "it  seems  that  Mr.  Ben- 
susan,  in  a  fit  of  philanthropy,  picked  up  this 
wretched  girl  in  the  country.  She  belonged  to  some 
gypsies,  but  as  her  parents  were  dead,  and  the  child 
a  burden,  the  tribe  were  glad  to  get  rid  of  her. 
Rhoda  Stanley — that  is  her  full  name — was  taken 
to  London  by  Mrs.  Bensusan,  who  tried  to  civilise 
her." 

"I  don't  think  she  succeeded  very  well,  Link. 
Rhoda,  with  her  cunning  ways  and  roaming  about 
at  night,  was  always  a  savage  at  heart.  In  spite 
of  what  Clyne  says  in  his  confession,  I  believe  she 
took  a  delight  in  turning  No.  13  into  a  haunted 
house  with  her  shrieking  and  her  flitting  candles. 
How  she  must  have  enjoyed  herself  when  she  heard 
the  talk  about  the  ghost !" 

"I  have  no  doubt  she  did,  Mr.  Denzil,  but  even 
those  delights  wearied  her,  and  she  longed  to  get 
back  to  the  free  gypsy  life.  When  she  found — 
through  you,  sir — that  the  police  wanted  to  know 
too  much  about  dear's  death,  she  left  Mrs.  Bensu- 
san in  the  lurch,  and  tramped  off  down  to  the  New 
Forest,  where  she  picked  up  again  with  her  tribe." 


304  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

"How  did  her  mistress  take  her  desertion?" 

"Very  much  to  heart,  as  she  had  treated  the 
young  savage  very  kindly,  and  ought  to  have  re- 
ceived more  gratitude.  Perhaps  when  she  hears 
how  her  adopted  child  wandered  about  at  night,  and 
ended  by  killing  Clear,  she  will  be  glad  she  is  dead 
and  buried.  Yet,  I  don't  know.  Women  are  won- 
derfully soft-hearted,  and  certainly  Rhoda  is 
thought  no  end  of  by  that  fat  woman." 

"Well !  well !"  said  Lucian,  impatient  of  this  di- 
gression. "So  Rhoda  went  back  to  her  tribe?" 

"Yes,  sir;  and  as  she  was  sharp,  clever,  and, 
moreover,  came  with  some  money  which  she  had 
stolen  from  Mrs.  Bensusan — -for  she  added  theft  to 
ingratitude — she  was  received  with  open  arms. 
With  her  gypsy  cousins  she  went  about  in  the  true 
gypsy  style,  but,  not  being  hardened  to  the  outdoor 
life  in  wet  weather,  she  fell  ill." 

"Civilisation  made  her  delicate,  I  suppose,"  said 
Denzil  grimly. 

"Exactly;  she  was  not  fit  for  the  tent  life  after 
having  lived  for  so  long  under  a  comfortable  roof. 
She  fell  ill  with  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and  in 
a  wonderfully  short  space  of  time  she  died." 

"When  did  she  confess  her  crime?" 

"I'm  coming  to  that,  sir.  When  she  was  dying 
she  sent  two  gypsies  to  the  nearest  magistrate — 
who  happened  to  be  the  vicar  of  the  parish  in  which 
the  tribe  were  then  encamped — and  asked  him  to 
see  her  on  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  The  vicar 
came  at  once,  and  when  he  became  aware  that 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  305 

Rhoda  was  the  girl  wanted  in  the  Vrain  case — for 
he  had  read  all  about  her  in  the  papers — he  became 
very  interested.  He  took  down  the  confession  of 
the  wretched  girl,  had  it  signed  by  two  witnesses 
and  Rhoda  herself,  and  sent  it  up  to  Scotland 
Yard." 

"And  this  confession " 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Link,  pointing  to  the  manu- 
script on  the  table;  "but  it  is  too  long  to  read,  so 
I  shall  just  tell  you  briefly  what  Rhoda  confessed, 
and  how  she  committed  the  crime." 

"Go  on!  I  am  most  anxious  to  hear,  Link!" 
"Well,  Mr.  Denzil,  you  know  that  Rhoda  was 
in  the  habit  of  visiting  No.  13  by  night  and  amus- 
ing herself  by  wandering  about  the  empty  rooms, 
although  I  don't  know  what  pleasure  she  found  in 
doing  so.  It  seems  that  when  Clear  became  the 
tenant  of  the  house,  Rhoda  was  very  angry,  as  his 
presence  interfered  with  her  midnight  capers.  How- 
ever, on  seeing  his  rooms — for  Clear  found  her  one 
night,  and  took  her  in  to  show  them  to  her — she 
was  filled  with  admiration,  and  with  true  gypsy 
instinct  wanted  to  steal  some  of  the  ornaments.  She 
tried  to  pocket  a  silver  paper-knife  on  that  very 
night  Clear  was  so  hospitable  to  her,  but  she  was 
not  sharp  enough,  and  the  man  saw  the  theft.  In 
a  rage  at  her  dishonesty  he  turned  her  out  of  the 
room,  and  swore  that  he  would  thrash  her  if  she 
came  into  his  presence  again." 

"Did  the  threat  keep  Rhoda  away?" 

"Not  it.    I  am  sure  you  saw  enough  of  that  wild- 


306  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

cat  to  know  nothing  would  frighten  her.  She  cer- 
tainly did  not  thrust  herself  personally  on  Clear, 
but  whenever  his  back  was  turned  she  took  to  steal- 
ing things  out  of  his  room,  when  he  was  foolish 
enough  to  leave  the  door  open.  Clear  was  much 
enraged,  and  complained  to  Clyne — known  to 
Rhoda  as  Wrent — who  in  his  turn  read  the  girl  a1 
sharp  lecture. 

"But  having  shown  Clyne  the  cellarway  into  the 
house,  Miss  Rhoda  knew  too  much,  and  laughed 
in  Clyne's  face.  He  did  not  dare  to  make  her  thefts 
public,  or  complain  to  Mrs.  Bensusan,  lest  Rhoda 
should  tell  of  the  connection  between  him  and  the 
tenant  of  the  Silent  House,  who  passed  under  the 
name  of  Berwin.  Therefore,  he  told  Clear  to  keep 
his  sitting-room  door  locked." 

"A  wise  precaution,  with  that  imp  about,"  said 
Lucian.  "I  hope  Clear  was  sensible  enough  to  adopt 
it." 

"Yes,  and  no.  When  he  was  sober  he  locked  the 
door,  and  when  drunk  he  left  it  open,  and  Rhoda 
looted  at  will.  And  now  comes  the  more  important 
part  of  the  confession.  You  remember  that  Clyne 
left  the  stiletto  from  Berwin  Manor  on  dear's 
table?" 

"Yes,  with  the  amiable  intention  that  the  poor 
devil  should  kill  himself.  He  left  it  on  Christmas 
Eve,  too— a  pleasant  time  for  a  man  to  commit 
suicide  1"  <, 

"Of  course,  the  intention  was  horrible!"  said 
Mr.  Link,  gravely.  "Some  people  might  think  such 


THE  §ILENT  HOUSE  307 

an  act  incredible;  but  I  have  seen  so  much  of  the 
worst  side  of  human  nature  that  I  am  not  sur- 
prised. Clyne  was  too  cowardly  to  kill  the  man 
himself,  so  he  thought  to  make  Clear  his  own  exe- 
cutioner by  leaving  the  stiletto  in  his  way.  Well, 
sir,  the  weapon  proved  to  be  useful  in  the  way  it 
was  intended  by  Clyne,  for  Clear  was  killed  with 
that  very  weapon." 

"And  by  Rhoda!"  said  Lucian,  nodding.  "I 
see !  How  did  she  get  hold  of  it  ?" 

"By  accident.  When  Wrent — I  mean  Clyne — 
and  Mrs.  Bensusan  went  to  bed  on  Christmas  Eve, 
Rhoda  thought  she  would  have  some  of  her  devil 
dances  in  the  haunted  house ;  so  she  slipped  out  of 
bed  and  into  the  yard,  and  dropped  down  into  the 
cellar,  whence  she  went  up  to  dear's  rooms." 

"Was  Clear  in  bed?" 

"No;  but  he  was  in  his  bedroom,  and,  according 
to  Rhoda,  furiously  drunk.  You  know  that  Clyne 
said  the  man  had  been  drinking  all  day.  On  this 
night  he  had  left  his  sitting-room  door  open,  and 
the  lamp  burning.  On  the  table  was  the  silver- 
handled  stiletto,  with  the  ribbon ;  and  when  Rhoda 
peered  into  the  room  to  see  what  she  could  pick  up, 
she  thought  she  would  like  this  pretty  toy.  She 
stole  forward  softly  and  took  the  stiletto,  but  be- 
fore she  could  get  back  to  the  door,  Clear,  who 
had  been  watching  her,  reeled  out  and  rushed  at 
her." 

"Did  she  run  away?" 

"She  couldn't.     Clear  was  between  her  and  the 


308  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

door.  She  ran  round  the  room,  upsetting  every- 
thing, for  she  thought  he  would  kill  her  in  his 
drunken  rage.  Don't  you  remember,  Mr.  Denzil, 
how  disorderly  the  room  was?  Well,  Clear  got 
Rhoda  into  a  corner,  and  was  going  to  strike  her; 
she  had  the  stiletto  still  in  her  hand,  and  held  it 
point  outward  to  save  herself  from  the  blow.  She 
thought  when  he  saw  the  weapon  he  would  not 
dare  to  come  nearer.  However,  either  he  did  not 
see  the  stiletto,  or  was  too  drunk  to  feel  fear,  for 
he  stumbled  and  fell  forward,  so  that  the  dagger 
ran  right  into  his  heart.  In  a  moment  he  fell  dead, 
before  he  had  time,  as  Rhoda  says,  to  even  utter 
a  cry." 

"So  it  was  an  accident,  after  all  ?"  said  Lucian. 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  an  accident,"  replied  Link,  "and 
I  can  see  very  plainly  how  it  took  place.  Of  course, 
Rhoda  was  terrified  at  what  she  had  done — al- 
though she  really  was  not  to  blame — and  leaving 
the  dead  man,  ran  away  with  the  stiletto.  She 
dropped  the  ribbon  off  it  near  the  cellar  door  as 
she  was  running  away,  and  there  Mrs.  Kebby  found 
it." 

"What  did  she  do  with  the  stiletto?" 

"She  had  it  in  her  room,  and  when  she  left  Mrs. 
Bensusan  she  carried  it  with  her  down  the  coun- 
try. In  proof  of  the  truth,  she  gave  it  to  the  vicar 
who  wrote  down  her  confession,  and  he  sent  it  up 
with  the  papers  to  Scotland  Yard.  Queer  case, 
isn't  it?" 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  309 

"Very  queer,  Link.  I  thought  everybody  was 
guilty  but  Rhoda." 

"Ah !"  said  the  detective,  significantly,  "it  is  al- 
ways the  least  suspected  person  who  is  guilty.  I 
could  have  sworn  that  Clyne  was  the  man.  Now 
it  seems  that  he  is  innocent,  so  instead  of  hanging 
.he  will  only  be  imprisoned  for  his  share  in  the  con- 
spiracy." 

"He  may  escape  that  way,"  said  Lucian  drily, 
"but,  morally  speaking,  I  regard  him  as  more  guilty 
than  Rhoda."  * 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  END  OF  IT  ALL 

Two  years  after  the  discovery  of  Rhoda's  guilt, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Denzil  were  seated  in  the  garden  of 
Berwin  Manor.  It  was  a  perfect  summer  evening, 
at  the  sunset  hour,  something  like  that  evening 
when,  in  the  same  garden,  almost  at  the  same  time, 
Lucian  had  asked  Diana  to  be  his  wife.  But  be- 
tween then  and  now  twenty-four  months  had 
elapsed,  and  many  things  had  taken  place  of  more 
or  less  importance  to  the  young  couple. 

The  mystery  of  dear's  death  had  been  solved; 
Lydia  had  been  set  free  as  innocent  of  crime ;  her 
father,  found  guilty  of  conspiracy  to  obtain  the 
assurance  money,  had  been  condemned  to  a  long 
term  of  imprisonment,  and,  what  most  concerned 
Lucian  and  Diana,  Mark  Vrain  had  really  and  truly 
gone  the  way  of  all  flesh. 

After  the  conclusion  of  the  Vrain  case  Lucian 
had  become  formally  engaged  to  Diana,  but  it  was 
agreed  between  them  that  the  marriage  should  not 
take  place  for  some  time  on  account  of  her  father's 
health.  After  his  discharge  as  cured  from  the  asy- 
lum of  Dr.  Jorce,  Miss  Vrain  had  taken  her  father 

310 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  311 

down  to^his  own  place  in  the  country,  and  there 
tended  him  with  the  most  affectionate  solicitude, 
in  the  hope  that  he  would  recover  his  health.  But 
the  hope  was  vain,  for  by  his  over-indulgence  in 
morphia,  his  worrying  and  wandering,  and  irregu- 
lar mode  of  life,  Vrain  had  completely  shattered  his 
health.  He  lapsed  into  a  state  of  second  childhood, 
and,  being  deprived  of  the  drugs  which  formerly 
had  excited  him  to  a  state  of  frenzy,  sank  into  a 
pitiable  condition.  For  days  he  would  remain  with- 
out speaking  to  any  one,  and  even  ceased  to  take  a 
pleasure  in  his  books.  Finally  his  limbs  became 
paralysed,  and  so  he  spent  the  last  few  months  of 
his  wretched  life  in  a  bath-chair,  being  wheeled 
round  the  garden. 

Still,  his  constitution  was  so  strong  that  he  lived 
for  quite  twelve  months  after  his  return  to  his  home, 
and  died  unexpectedly  in  his  sleep.  Diana  was  not 
sorry  when  he  passed  so  easily  away,  for  death  was 
a  merciful  release  of  his  tortured  soul  from  his 
worn-out  body.  So  Mark  Vrain  died,  and  was  bur- 
ied, and  after  the  funeral  Diana  went  abroad,  with 
Miss  Priscilla  Barbar  for  a  companion. 

In  the  meantime,  Lucian  stayed  in  grimy,  smoky 
London,  and  worked  hard  at  his  profession.  He 
was  beginning  to  be  known,  and  in  time  actually  re- 
ceived a  brief  or  two,  with  which  he  did  his  best 
in  court.  Still,  he  was  far  from  being  the  success- 
ful pleader  he  hoped  to  be,  for  law,  of  all  profes- 
sions, is  one  which  demands  time  and  industry  for 
the  attainment  of  any  degree  of  excellence.  It  is 


3i2  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

rarely  that  a  young  lawyer  can  go  to  sleep  and  wake 
to  find  himself  famous;  he  must  crawl  rather  than 
run.  With  diligence  and  punctuality,  and  observ- 
ance of  every  chance,  in  time  the  wished-for  goal  is 
reached,  although  that  goal,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
is  a  very  moderate  distance  off.  Lucian  did  not  sigh 
for  a  judgeship,  or  for  a  seat  on  the  Woolsack;  he 
was  content  to  be  a  barrister  with  a  good  practice, 
and  perhaps  a  Q.C.-ship  in  prospect.  However, 
during  the  year  of  Diana's  mourning  he  did  so  well 
that  he  felt  justified  in  asking  her  to  marry  him 
when  she  returned.  Diana,  on  her  side,  saw  no  ob- 
stacle to  this  course,  so  she  consented. 

"If  you  are  not  rich,  my  dear,  I  am,"  she  said, 
when  Lucian  alleged  his  poverty  as  the  only  bar 
to  their  union,  "and  as  money  gives  me  no  pleasure 
without  you,  I  do  not  care  to  stay  in  Berwin  Manor 
in  lonely  spinsterhood.  I  shall  marry  you  when- 
ever you  choose." 

And  Lucian,  taking  advantage  of  this  gracious 
permission,  did  choose  to  be  married,  and  that 
speedily;  so  within  two  years  after  the  final  closing 
of  the  Vrain  case  they  became  man  and  wife.  At 
the  time  they  were  seated  in  the  garden,  at  the 
hour  of  sunset,  they  had  only  lately  returned  from 
their  honeymoon,  and  were  now  talking  over  past 
experiences.  Miss  Priscilla,  who  had  been  left  in 
charge  of  the  Manor  during  their  absence,  had  wel- 
comed them  back  with  much  joy,  as  she  looked  upon 
the  match  as  one  of  her  own  making.  Now  she 
had  gone  inside,  on  the  understanding  that  two  are 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  313 

company,  and  three  are  none,  and  the  young  couple 
were  left  alone.  Hand  in  hand,  after  the  foolish 
fashion  of  lovers,  they  sat  under  a  leafy  oak  tree, 
and  the  sunlight  glowed  redly  on  their  happy  faces. 
After  a  short  silence  Lucian  looked  at  the  face  ot 
his  wife  and  laughed. 

"What  is  amusing  you,  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Denzil, 
with  a  sympathetic  smile. 

"My  thoughts  were  rather  pleasant  than  amus- 
ing," replied  Lucian,  giving  the  hand  that  lay  in 
his  a  squeeze,  "but  I  was  thinking  of  Hans  Ander- 
sen's tale  of  the  Elder  Mother  Tree,  and  of  the 
old  couple  who  sat  enjoying  their  golden  wedding 
under  the  linden,  with  the  red  sunlight  shining  on 
their  silver  crowns." 

"We  are  under  an  oak  and  wear  no  crowns,"  re- 
plied Diana  in  her  turn,  "but  we  are  quite  as  happy, 
I  think,  although  it  is  not  our  golden  wedding." 

"Perhaps  that  will  come  some  day,  Diana." 

"Fifty  years,  my  dear;  it's  a  long  way  off  yet," 
said  Mrs.  Denzil  dubiously. 

"I  am  glad  it  is,  for  I  shall  have  (D.V.,)  fifty 
years  of  happiness  with  you  to  look  forward  to. 
Upon  my  word,  Diana,  I  think  you  deserve  happi- 
ness, after  all  the  trouble  you  have  had." 

"With  you  I  am  sure  to  be  happy,  Lucian,  but 
other  people,  poor  souls,  are  not  so  well  off." 

"What  other  people?" 

"Jabez  Clyne,  for  one." 

"My  dear,"  said  Lucian,  seriously,  "I  hope  I 
am  not  a  hard  man,  but  I  really  cannot  find  it  in 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

my  heart  to  pity  Clyne.  He  was — and  I  dare  say  is 
— a  scoundrel!" 

"I  don't  deny  that  he  acted  badly,"  sighed  Diana, 
"but  it  was  for  his  daughter's  sake,  you  know." 

"There  is  a  limit  even  to  paternal  affection, 
Diana.  And  putting  aside  the  wickedness  of  the 
whole  conspiracy,  I  cannot  pardon  a  man  who  de- 
liberately put  a  weapon  in  the  way  of  a  man  almost 
insane  with  drink,  in  order  that  he  might  kill  him- 
self. The  idea  was  diabolically  wicked,  my  dear, 
and  I  think  that  Jabez  Clyne,  alias  Wrent,  quite 
deserves  the  long  imprisonment  he  received." 

"At  all  events,  the  Sirius  Company  got  back  their 
money,  Lucian." 

"So  much  as  Lydia  had  not  spent  they  got  back, 
Diana;  but  when  your  father  actually  died  they 
had  to  part  with  it  very  soon  again,  and  some  of  it 
has  gone  into  Lydia's  pocket  after  all." 

Diana  blushed.  "It  was  only  right,  dear,"  she 
said,  apologetically.  "When  my  father  made  his 
new  will,  leaving  it  all  to  me,  I  did  not  think  that 
Lydia,  however  badly  she  treated  him,  should  be 
left  absolutely  penniless.  And  you  know,  Lucian, 
you  agreed  that  I  should  share  the  assurance  money 
with  her." 

"I  did,"  replied  Denzil.  "Of  two  evils  I  chose 
the  least,  for  if  Lydia  had  not  got  a  portion  of 
the  money  she  would  have  been  quite  capable  of 
trying  to  upset  the  second  will  on  the  ground  that 
Mr.  Vrain  was  insane." 

"Papa  was  not  insane,"  reproved  Diana.     "He 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  315 

was  weajt,  I  admit,  but  at  the  time  he  made  that 
will  he  had  all  his  senses.  Besides,  after  all  the 
scandal  of  the  case,  I  don't  think  Lydia  would  have 
dared  to  go  to  law  about  it.  Still,  it  was  best  to 
give  her  the  money,  and  I  hear  from  Miss  Priscilla 
that  Lydia  is  now  in  Italy,  and  proposes  to  marry 
an  Italian  prince." 

"She  has  flown  higher  than  a  count,  then.  Poor 
Ferruci  killed  himself  for  her  sake." 

"For  his  own,  rather,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Denzil 
energetically.  "He  knew  that  if  he  lived  he  would 
be  punished  by  imprisonment,  so  chose  to  kill  him- 
self rather  than  suffer  such  dishonour.  I  believe  he 
truly  loved  Lydia,  certainly,  but  as  he  wanted  the 
assurance  money,  I  fancy  he  sinned  quite  as  much 
for  his  own  sake  as  for  Lydia's." 

"No  doubt;  and  I  dare  say  Lydia  loved  him, 
after  her  own  fashion;  yet  she  seems  to  have  for- 
gotten him  pretty  soon,  and — as  you  say — intends 
to  marry  a  prince.  I  don't  envy  his  highness." 

"She  has  no  heart,  so  I  dare  say  she  will  be  happy 
as  such  women  ever  are,"  said  Diana  contemptu- 
ously, "yet  her  happiness  comes  out  of  much  evil. 
If  she  had  not  married  my  father,  her  own  would 
not  now  be  in  prison,  nor  would  Count  Ferruci  and 
Rhoda  be  dead." 

"Ferruci,  perhaps,  might  still  be  alive,  and  her 
husband,"  assented  Lucian,  "but  I  have  my  doubts 
about  Rhoda.  She  was  a  wicked,  precocious  little 
imp,  that  girl,  and  sooner  or  later  would  have  come 
to  a  bad  end.  The  death  of  Clear  was  due  to  an 


3i6  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

accident,  I  admit;  but  Rhoda  has  still  one  person 
who  laments  over  her,  for,  although  Mrs.  Bensu- 
san  knows  the  truth,  she  always  thinks  of  that  red- 
haired  minx  as  a  kind  of  martyr,  who  was  led  into 
wicked  ways  by  Clyne,  alias  Wrent." 
"I  am  sure  Mrs.  Clear  doesn't  think  so." 
"Mrs.  Clear  has  got  quite  enough  to  think  about 
in  remembering  how  narrowly  she  escaped  impris- 
onment for  her  share  in  that  shameful  conspiracy. 
If  she  had  not  turned  Queen's  evidence,  she  would 
have  been  punished  as  Clyne  was ;  as  it  is,  she  just 
escaped  by  an  accident.  Still,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  her,  we  should  never  have  discovered  the  truth. 
I  would  never  have  suspected  Clyne,  who  was  al- 
ways so  meek  and  mild.  Even  that  visit  he  paid 
to  me  to  lament  over  his  daughter's  probable  mar- 
riage to  Ferruci  was  a  trick  to  find  out  how  much 
I  knew." 

"Don't  you  think  he  hated  Ferruci?" 
"No;  I  am  sure  he  did  not.     He  acted  a  part 
to  find  out  what  I  was  doing.     If  Mrs.  Clear  had 
not  betrayed  him  we  should  never  have  discovered 
the  conspiracy." 

"And  if  Rhoda  had  not  spoken,  the  mystery  of 
dear's  death  would  never  have  been  solved,"  said 
Diana,  "although  she  only  confessed  at  the  eleventh 
hour,  and  when  she  was  dying." 

"I  think  Link  was  pleased  that  the  mystery  was 
solved  in  so  unexpected  a  way,"  said  Lucian,  laugh- 
ing. "He  never  forgave  my  finding  out  so  much 
without  his  aid.  He  ascribes  the  ending  of  the 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  317 

whole  matter  to  chance,  and  I  dare  say  he  is  right." 

"H'm!"  said  Mrs.  Denzil,  who  had  no  great 
love  for  the  detective.  "He  certainly  left  every- 
thing to  chance.  Twice  he  gave  up  the  case." 

"And  twice  I  gave  it  up,"  said  Denzil.  "If  it( 
had  not  been  for  you,  dear,  I  should  never  have 
gone  on  with  what  seemed  to  be  a  hopeless  task. 
But  when  I  first  met  you  you  induced  me  to  continue 
the  search  for  the  culprit,  and  again  when,  by  the 
evidence  of  the  missing  finger,  you  did  not  believe 
your  father  was  dead." 

"Well,  you  worked;  I  worked;  Link  worked," 
said  Diana,  philosophically,  "and  we  all  three  did 
our  best  to  discover  the  truth." 

"Only  to  let  chance  discover  it  in  the  long  run." 

Diana  laughed  and  nodded,  but  did  not  contra- 
dict her  husband.  "Well,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "I 
think  we  have  discussed  the  subject  pretty  freely, 
but  there  is  one  thing  I  should  like  to  know.  What 
about  the  Silent  House  in  Pimlico?" 

"Oh,  Miss  Greeb  told  me  the  other  day  that 
Peacock  is  going  to  pull  it  down.  You  know,  just 
before  we  were  married  I  took  leave  of  Miss  Greeb, 
with  whom  I  lodged  for  a  long  time.  Well,  she 
gave  me  a  piece  of  news.  She  is  going  to  be  mar- 
ried, also,  and  to  whom,  do  you  think?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Diana,  looking  interested, 
as  women  always  do  in  marriage  news. 

"To  Peacock,  who  owns  nearly  all  the  property 
in  and  about  Geneva  Square.  It  will  be  a  splendid 


3i 8  THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

match  for  her,  and  Mrs.  Peacock  will  be  much  rich- 
er than  you  or  I,  Diana." 

"But  not  happier,  my  dear.  I  am  glad  she  is 
to  be  married,  as  she  seemed  a  nice  woman,  and 
made  you  very  comfortable.  But  why  is  the  Silent 
House  to  be  pulled  down?" 

"Because  no  one  will  live  in  it." 

"But  it  is  not  haunted  now.  You  know  it  was 
discovered  that  Rhoda  was  the  ghost,  and  the  ghost, 
as  Miss  Greeb  suggested,  killed  Clear." 

"It  is  haunted  now  by  the  ghost  of  Clear,"  said 
Lucian  gravely.  "At  all  events,  he  was  murdered 
there,  and  no  one  cares  to  live  in  the  house.  I 
confess  I  shouldn't  care  to  live  in  it  myself.  So, 
Peacock,  finding  the  house  unprofitable,  has  de- 
termined to  pull  it  down." 

"So  there  is  an  end  tc  the  Silent  House  of  Pim- 
lico,"  said  Diana,  rising  and  taking  her  husband's 
arm.  "Come  inside,  Lucian.  It  grows  chilly." 

"  'Tho'  winds  be  cold  and  nights  be  drear, 
Yet  love  makes  warm  our  hearts,  my  dear,' ' 

quoted  Lucian,  as  they  went  up  to  the  house.  "That 
is  not  very  good  poetry,  but  it  is  a  beautiful  truth, 
my  love." 

Diana  laughed,  and  looked  up  proudly  into  the 
bright  face  of  her  husband. 

So  they  went  inside,  and  found  that  Miss  Pris- 
cilla  had  made  the  tea,  and  all  were  very  happy,  and 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE  319 

very  thankful  for  their  happiness.  In  this  condi- 
tion, which  is  sufficiently  pleasant,  I  think  we  may 
leave  them. 


THE   END 


UC.SB    LIBRA1Y 


A     000  621  049     6 


